


Refraction Error

by Kairyn



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Abbas Sofian Being a Dick, Ableist Language, Angst and Feels, Autism Spectrum, Blind Altair, But It's From Abbas, But trans isn't known, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Chronic Pain, Disabled Altair, Disabled Character, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Medicinal Drug Use, Noncanon Explanation of Eagle Vision, On the Spectrum Altair, One-Sided Attraction, Physical Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Sort Of, Trans Maria Thorpe, unintentional misgendering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairyn/pseuds/Kairyn
Summary: Altair is the Eagle of Masyaf. Eagles have excellent vision until they don't. Then they are unable to survive.Nobody walks away from the Tomb unscathed. But not every injury is as visible as a missing arm. Nor do they always heal quite right.
Relationships: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad & Rashid ad-Din Sinan | Al Mualim, Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Comments: 142
Kudos: 452





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Dance of the Eagles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15087893) by [TheLittleLostTimeLord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleLostTimeLord/pseuds/TheLittleLostTimeLord). 



> So, I was working on this story for a while. I liked the idea of the Eagle vision coming from the Piece of Eden. (And I have also tried to play AC with Eagle vision turned on as much as possible... it's an interesting experiment). I've tweaked Eagle Vision a bit to make it more dramatic and because I started writing this while I hadn't re-played AC in a while and misremembered a bit, lol. I liked it too much to change though.
> 
> Then I came across The Dance of Eagles (that I've linked to) and it hooked into some other thoughts I'd been pondering and playing with so I've lumped it all together into this one story. (And it utterly convinced me that Altair is on the spectrum in some way so that's just a part of my canon for him now) I only intended for this story to be a one-shot but then it grew to over 10,000 words so I went... chapters it is! Oh, also, I am not personally on the spectrum so if anything is glaringly wrong about my portrayal, please do tell me as I want to be accurate.

_Put the tip of your blade **here**..._

The whisper was constant in the depths of his mind. An inescapable reminder of the lessons drilled into his very marrow from years-long repetition.

_Now... **push** -_

His arm jerked forward without even a moment's thought or hesitation. Automatic. He almost wasn't aware of doing it.

- _hard and fast. That's the way, Altaïr... Always make sure you're quick and efficient. Kill before they even have a chance._ He could still feel the large hands on either one of his shoulders and the breath against his neck as he pulled his blade free.

"Altaïr!" Malik hissed in outrage as the old man fell to the ground, a bleeding mass of flesh. Already dead. Quick and efficient. Just as he'd been taught. Altaïr blinked under his hood, not entirely sure what Malik's problem was _this time_. The man always seemed to have some sort of problem with what Altaïr did. "We do not kill innocents!"

"He would have screamed and sounded the alarm," Altaïr said. Really, it was obvious. One couldn't be seen if there was nobody alive to do it. True, it was technically against one of those tenants that the others went on about, but Altaïr couldn't help but find that excuse flimsy at best. Who in this world was truly innocent anyway? Children, he supposed, but Altaïr couldn't imagine a situation in which a child would be in his way. Malik brought up the Creed far more often than Al Mualim did, and Altaïr found it an annoying hindrance. There were _always_ exceptions to the Creed. He'd been given plenty of examples of them over the years by Al Mualim himself.

Malik was visibly angry with him, but Altaïr still had no idea why. Killing the man broke one rule to preserve another, after all. Instead of fighting, he just ignored the situation (he didn't understand it anyway) and continued on. They had a task to do, and Altaïr loathed failure. He wouldn't miss the window of opportunity. He _could not_ miss it. He had refused to suffer the consequences of failure since he was a child.

Altaïr ran through the plan in his head as they slipped through the tunnels. Altaïr could handle this himself, really, but he'd been given unnecessary help so he would do as he was told and adjust his methods as best he could. He didn't like it, though. He worked best alone. 

As he skipped over gaps in the tunnel, Altaïr focused on the problem ahead. Altaïr would be the distraction, Malik would sneak through to get the treasure, and Kadar... well, honestly, Altaïr wasn't sure why he was even here. He wasn't needed. Altaïr could handle this, and Malik could cover any unforeseen circumstances. Kadar was a possible liability. But Al Mualim had been clear so Altaïr would figure out _something_ for the young Assassin to do. Perhaps he could be a lookout.

As they reached the meeting place and Altaïr saw the situation in front of him, he frowned. There were more people than anticipated, and the one in charge was no ordinary guard. He held himself like a seasoned warrior. Robert de Sablé. Not that Altaïr was worried. He'd never met anyone that could best him. Still, a rapid recalculation took place in his head. Altaïr would focus solely on Robert. Malik would handle the other guards, and Kadar would snatch the treasure while everyone else was distracted. Then they would make their way out. It wasn't subtle, but there wasn't enough cover to do anything more clandestine. Especially not where the lights were placed in the room.

Plan in place, Altaïr jumped down from his perch. The fact that he didn't voice even a single of those thoughts aloud to the others never occurred to him as he crossed the room to engage one of the order's most hated enemies. Altaïr heard Malik hiss his name, but it was far too late to change tactics. Plus, he jumped down only a moment later, so Altaïr figured it was fine.

It was around that point that everything went wrong...

Altaïr came to consciousness with a groan of pain. He knocked the various bits of rubble away as he pushed himself upright. His head was throbbing from where it hit the wall, and Altaïr took a moment to cradle it in his hand. He pushed his hood back to feel the back of his head. Altaïr's fingers brushed the bump immediately, and a bit of stickiness in his hair. His skull had cracked pretty hard, so that wasn't surprising. Still unpleasant, though. Altaïr pulled his hand away and cursed at the red on his fingers before pulling his hood back on and getting up. Luckily, he didn't seem to be bleeding badly, and the cowl was double lined, so it probably wouldn't show through. Hopefully. Blood seeping through the Assassin garb was always a dead give away both for enemies to attack and for other Assassins to know something had gone wrong. Plus, it stained, and Altaïr really couldn't stand that. It took hours to get blood out of white fabric.

Looking at the blocked wall he'd come through, Altaïr thought that perhaps he could hear fighting on the other side. That was hard to tell for sure, though, because his ears were ringing from the impact he'd taken. Altaïr reached to the wall. He pushed and pulled at several spots, but it was all firmly wedged together. He couldn't get back.

Despite the horrible throbbing in his head and the strange double vision that would come and go as he rode his horse, Altaïr rushed back to report what had happened. He had no idea how long he was unconscious for, he didn't think too long, but there was no way to tell. There was no time to waste. Altaïr had no desire to admit that things had gone badly, but Altaïr didn't lie. Especially not to his Master. 

The trip back to Masyaf was a blur really, but Altaïr didn't dare stop. Not even when he had to muscle his way through his wavering vision and aching skull. The ringing in his ears had faded after a while. He also didn't have too many other bodily aches and pains. Considering he went through a wall, Altaïr was surprised he seemed to mostly get away unscathed. He hoped the brothers had as well. Though without any sign of them, it didn't look promising.

Things only proceeded to go from bad to worse as Altaïr returned to Masyaf. Al Mualim was angry, as Altaïr knew he would be. Still, Altaïr was somewhat taken aback by the exceedingly long list of reasons that were given. Al Mualim had never said such things to Altaïr before. The opposite, in fact. He usually praised Altaïr for thinking outside of restrictions to make sure that his task was completed. 

Altaïr was glad to see Malik had survived... for about a half-second because the other Assassin immediately started yelling. Altaïr wasn't fond of loud noises. Never had been. And he was even less happy to be the one being shouted at. Bad enough that his Master was already scolding him, but now Malik was as well. Altaïr couldn't entirely stop himself from yelling back, which should have proved to them how upset he really was since he didn't do that. He only got out a few sentences in his own defense before they were interrupted.

Robert de Sablé had found them. Altaïr _knew_ he hadn't been followed. It was far more likely Malik had been. But Altaïr wouldn't argue the assumption that the others made at the moment. There were other matters far more pressing. 

There was a pounding behind his eyes as Altaïr went about fighting all of the invaders. He nearly lost his balance as he looked down off of the platform he was supposed to leap from, and the world swayed, but he was confident in his own abilities and blindly jumped. He was glad he hadn't broken his leg like the other brother had. Then it was a simple enough matter to let loose the logs that were poised over the rest of the invading force, sending the survivors scattering.

Altaïr's head was really becoming far too painful. He hadn't stopped to rest at all or check his head more than that cursory first touch. He felt as if his skull was ripped open, and his eyes would pop right out of his sockets, there was so much pressure. More and more often, his vision was wavering. And yet, there still wasn't time to rest because Al Mualim immediately started in on him again.

After everything that had happened and the pain still pulsing in his head, Altaïr found himself trying to defend himself from accusations that didn't even make sense. Al Mualim was going on and on about the Creed for the first time that Altaïr could remember. Since before they had begun their special private lessons, Al Mualim had barely even mentioned the Creed. Implied it was a flexible sort of guideline rather than hard rules. And then he went and accused Altaïr of being a traitor when Al Mualim of all people knew how loyal Altaïr _was_. Altaïr's Master demanded nothing less than absolute loyalty, and Altaïr had given it. He always had given it. He followed orders, even when he didn't understand them. Even when following commands gave him pain.

Altaïr tried to pull himself free of the two Assassins holding him, but it was more difficult than he imagined it would be. He didn't like to be touched. He would stay there even without their help. He had nothing to hide or run from. Altaïr just wanted to be let go and stopped being yelled at!

He saw the flash of the dagger, and he felt the searing pain in his ribs. He let out a noise of pain. Behind Al Mualim, he saw a brief glimmer of golden light that burned his already blurring vision just before everything went dark.

* * *

Altaïr was surprised to feel himself coming around. He had been sure he was going to die when he felt the blade slip between his bones. But he wasn't. He felt weak and shaky, but surprisingly good despite that. None of his limbs were restrained, which was also quite shocking. Altaïr opened his eyes and felt something in his chest freeze with an unfamiliar feeling. Fear.

There was nothing in front of him. 

Misty black smoke that swirled dark and impenetrable was all he could see.

Altaïr lifted a hand to his face, but there was nothing over his eyes. He could feel himself blinking, but there was very little difference between them open or closed. A low noise escaped his throat as he sat up on what felt like a thin cushioning of straw. His eyes moved back and forth, and he realized there was _slight_ definition. Not much, but he could see that he was in a small room. A cell, really. Slowly, the fog cleared until he could make out the door of the room. There was still definitely something wrong with his eyes, though.

The world was so much darker than it should be. And the straw beneath Altaïr's body was drained of color. Just like the stones. Blue-greys and blacks with a haze over everything.

Before Altaïr could process much else except for the fact that his vision was so terrifyingly incorrect, he heard footsteps coming near. There was the rattle of keys, and then the door opened. Altaïr could really only tell it had from the sound of the hinges and the very slight change in color of the wood moving away. The ever so minor way that the room became a touch easier to see as Altaïr assumed some light got in.

Then a silhouette of a hooded figure stepped into the already dark opening. "You're up," an only vaguely familiar voice said. Altaïr recognized it as another Assassin, but he couldn't place who and the near blackness of his form meant Altaïr couldn't even guess based on facial features. (Not that he was particularly good at that either, but that wasn't the point.) "Al Mualim has said you are to be brought to him as soon as you waken."

Half of Altaïr wanted to demand answers, but the other half was wary of asking too many questions and revealing he couldn't see correctly. Altaïr wasn't dead yet, but he didn't know the conditions of that. He needed to figure out what was going on before he admitted to seeing mostly shadows instead of full pictures like he saw before he passed out. "Come on," the Assassin at the door said impatiently.

Altaïr got to his feet. "How long was I unconscious?" 

"Two days. You took your time. Let's go."

Altaïr hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. Luckily, it seemed as if his depth perception was still mostly intact. The floor was how far he thought it was when he put his foot down. Altaïr didn't rush, though, trying to place where he was despite lacking so much detail of his surroundings. The other Assassin seemed impatient, but Altaïr barely paid him any mind. It would be far worse if Altaïr tripped over something or ran into a wall because it was hard to see.

The hallway stretched out in front of him and only got darker and more impossible to see. Shadows moving in the dark fog, he guessed were people going about their business. It was impossible to tell how far the hallway went with the strange veil over his vision. He couldn't even tell where in the fortress he was yet. The corridor wasn't distinct enough, especially without him being able to see the finer details of the stonework.

Every time they passed a window, Altaïr would be able to see a little bit further around them from the increase in light. Perhaps out in the open, his eyes could figure out what he was looking at. And most hopefully, his vision would go back to normal. He remained silent as they walked, and then they reached some stairs. Altaïr couldn't help but be apprehensive but tried to not show it as he followed the guide upwards.

The stairs were disorienting. Moreso than Altaïr thought that they would be. His balance still felt slightly compromised. He was glad when he made it to the top of the narrow staircase with only a few scuffs of his shoes that his guide didn't seem to notice. They stepped outside and, although Altaïr was momentarily blinded from the light, he adjusted and was able to see better than before. It still wasn't right by any means, but he could see more definition.

As they walked further and further from what Altaïr now realized were the holding cells near the back of the fortress, they started coming across more people. The majority were all shadowy dark figures with little definition. But, on occasion, some flared up with an almost blinding intensity. Red and blue and white as bright as stars right in front of his eyes. He had always associated colors with different types of people, but this felt somehow felt a little... more. Even clearer than he'd ever had it in his mind before, because this time, it was a literal color he could see.

Altaïr didn't understand what was happening, and that made his heart thunder out impossibly loud in his chest. He was sure that the others could hear it, but they said nothing. Perhaps they were just trying to be polite? That seemed unlikely. Especially with the flashes of red that he could see among those that were supposed to be his brothers. Red was always a danger in his mind.

He was brought to his Master and was very publicly and humiliatingly stripped of every rank and then berated yet again. It was only through years of practice that Altaïr was able to not react. Well, not much. He couldn't entirely stop trying to explain himself, but he was forever horrendous at that. Al Mualim seemed as unamused with his words as he always was, and Altaïr did his best to bite his tongue. Talking back would end as poorly as it ever did.

Al Mualim didn't want to listen, so Altaïr didn't speak. And he certainly didn't bring up the wrongness of his eyesight. Al Mualim had never liked it when Altaïr made any mention of injuries or confusion. He had threatened more than once to put Altaïr on different duties if he wasn't up to standards. Altaïr didn't know how much further he could fall in his Master's eyes, but he wasn't looking forward to finding out. Eventually, the only remaining punishment would be death.

So, Altaïr hid it. The darkness and the blinding flashes of color. The way his head would ache to unbearable levels. More than once, while he sought to slowly relearn skills he should know but strangely couldn't remember, he had been reduced to a quivering mess in some dark corner -brought low as his eyesight failed him entirely and his head was filled with red hot knives. Altaïr quickly learned when to realize the pain was imminent. It would start behind his eyes -a faint throb when he tried to use them too much- and then it would spread. If he didn't stop immediately upon feeling that throbbing, then he would be in agony in under half an hour. Often times he had to use that half an hour to find a rooftop garden or out of the way alley to hide in.

It took days to do what should have taken mere hours. He was slow now, not trusting his own body as much as he once did. Altaïr had fallen multiple times when he misjudged distances or the strength of a bit of roof he was looking to land on. And then, of course, he found he could barely work at all at night. The dark of night made his own vision even worse, and the brief flares of color from people -that still sometimes startled him if he were honest- was not enough to do what he needed.

Days turned to weeks, and Altaïr still didn't mention his eyes. That would be foolish. Like exposing a wound to an enemy. Altaïr didn't like thinking of his brothers that way, but he had _seen_ those flares of red all around him when he was released from his cell. Altaïr wasn't in the habit of ignoring those sorts of mental warnings. So Altaïr hid it, which was not easy. He quickly learned he couldn't put his hood down -his eyes weren't focused properly, and the others would notice, and Altaïr had no good excuses since he didn't drink and didn't want to hint as to the real cause. 

The bright colors filling people were painful to look directly at, so he couldn't do it for long. Therefore, he also stayed further back from people when talking to them, keeping them from picking out if he didn't look at them. Luckily, Altaïr had never been good at the eye contact thing, so that was something the others dismissed easily. When he was resting, even if he wasn't asleep, he would keep his eyes closed. It helped keep the headaches at bay. The few times he had been caught doing that, Altaïr had been accused of falling back into 'old arrogant habits' or not caring, which Altaïr couldn't actually defend against without spilling his secret. He was always paying attention, but they didn't believe that.

Still, Altaïr did his best to adjust. He found out just how long he could push his eyes before the pain would start. He found the best places: quietest and darkest, to hide when he was brought to a sobbing mess from the pain. He even went to doctors as discreetly as he could. The ones furthest from any bureaus that asked no questions and little money. None of them could explain his vision or tell him if it would get any better. Some sold him things for the pain but put him out of commission for the rest of the day. Altaïr also got injured more often now that his vision was wrong, and he had to hide those too. Cuts and scrapes, bruises, and sprains, he had even broken bones which he hadn't gotten in years previously.

Altaïr was proud of himself for managing to halfway memorize the cities he travelled in again with his eyes as they were. And even more proud of actually killing his targets. Especially since he had to try and work with one of his senses nearly crippled. Nobody had caught on either, which was an odd mix of good and upsetting. Altaïr didn't think he was that good at acting, but nobody had figured out he couldn't see correctly. Even Al Mualim, who knew him best of all, had not noticed that Altaïr had not actually walked away unscathed from the fight in the tomb.

And then Altaïr came to Jerusalem.

He hadn't thought much about it. Just another target to kill to try and earn back his scraps of respect. His eyes were bothering him more than usual, but Altaïr ignored them at least until he got to the bureau. He needed to get that far before he gave himself a rest. He didn't remember enough about the city to find anywhere else that was safe with how different it all looked. His vision was already blurring, and his eyes aching like they did before the pain hit, so Altaïr knew he couldn't go out that afternoon. He would be useless soon enough, so leaving safety would be a bad idea.

When he dropped down from the roof, however, Altaïr was greeted by someone he hadn't thought he'd encounter again. At least, not so soon. Malik had always had a vicious tongue, and now he had absolutely no reason to hold back. Altaïr didn't even blame him for it, but his head was starting to ache more with each passing moment, and he just wanted to escape.

When Malik had finally finished talking and had dismissed him, Altaïr found himself a seat in the darkest corner he could and closed his eyes. "What are you doing?" Malik demanded.

Altaïr tried to not be annoyed, but that was hard when his head was throbbing. "Resting," he answered, purely because if he didn't say something, Malik would pester him.

Malik almost seemed to sputter. "Resting? It's barely midday!"

"... I'm aware," Altaïr said as evenly as he could. The pain was only getting worse, even though his eyes were closed. He could feel it like a dagger slowly pushing deeper into his skull.

"I've considered you many things over the years, _Novice_ , but this laziness is beyond even you. Get up and perform your tasks," Malik snapped with no small amount of authority.

Altaïr forced himself to take a slow breath even though it didn't help much. "I'll leave soon." If he had some peace and quiet, he might be functional again in perhaps an hour. If he got lucky. Malik let out a noise of frustration but thankfully went back to whatever he was doing at his desk with only mutterings.

Malik's displeasure was palpable, and sooner than he wanted or was really capable of, Altaïr decided to spare them both his presence in the bureau. He waited until he was pretty certain he heard Malik go into the backroom before getting up unsteadily and leaving. The sun was like a million needles in his skull, but he ignored it as best he could and clumsily climbed up and out of the safety of the bureau. 

Altaïr was a stumbling mess that almost fell off of a clothesline but caught himself at the last moment. He managed to find a rooftop garden to take refuge in for what little that was worth. The crippling pain he was fighting against swept him under the tide, and he was left whimpering and trembling under the inadequate protection of the cloth canopy. By the time the ache had faded enough that Altaïr felt he could function, it was dark, and he couldn't see enough to be useful anyway. So he gave into the exhaustion brought on by pain and slept in the cold of the garden. Not ideal, but what else could he really do? It had been made clear he wasn't meant to use the bureau yet.

He spent the next day remembering how the city was laid out and figuring out where the best dark places to hide were. As night began to fall, Altaïr was tempted to go back to the safety of the bureau where he'd at least not be sleeping in the streets or a garden. But, facing Malik was uncomfortable, so he didn't. Altaïr didn't know _how_ to deal with that. Avoidance was the only thing he could think to do. Still, he would have liked a bed...

_Do not be so weak, Altaïr,_ Al Mualim would say. _You do not **need** bedding. The room is safe and secure, so sleep. I will wake you at dawn whether you have been asleep for a few minutes or a few hours. One day you'll be glad for these lessons._

Altaïr had dutifully learned how to sleep in a cold empty room just as easily as a comfortable bed, and he'd used that skill frequently over the years. He still wasn't sure if he was _glad_ for the lesson, though. He never slept well and a miserable night's sleep, he'd discovered since his injury, made his head hurt more frequently the next day. But, Altaïr pushed past that to focus on his task.

Despite his best efforts, it took Altaïr a further two days in the city to gather the information Malik had required before he'd allow the assassination. When Altaïr reported to him, Malik had been quite clearly (even to Altaïr) aggravated. "What has taken you so long?" Malik demanded. The colors around him were sparking red in a way that made Altaïr want to gouge his eyes out. Colors didn't usually flicker different colors like that, and Altaïr didn't like it. "Are you really so incompetent that you cannot even do simple reconnaissance yourself in a timely manner?"

Altaïr tried to not cringe and remain blank. That was always the safest for him in the past. Not reacting limited Al Mualim's displeasure usually. But it was hard. Malik's words and tone and, well, everything about him currently hurt. Altaïr wasn't incompetent. He knew he wasn't. But he still hadn't gotten entirely used to his new limitations. He'd fallen from a roof just on the way back and was pretty certain he'd sprained his ankle upon landing. It throbbed with each beat of his heart, but Altaïr wouldn't let onto that. Never revealing discomfort was drilled into him as entirely as which ribs to slide his blade between. He never let anyone know he was in pain or any form that wasn't peak after Al Mualim's training sessions or punishments, and he wouldn't do so now.

Malik was still snapping and snarling, but Altaïr wasn't listening to the words so much as the tone. He would stop at some point. Altaïr just had to hold out until he did, and then he could go curl up somewhere and process. Hopefully, somewhere quiet and peaceful. 

"Novice!"

Altaïr flinched despite himself. He hadn't been called that in that disapproving tone in a very long time. He hadn't been ready for it. Not in the least. Altaïr forced himself back to the present and tried to meet Malik's eyes like he knew was expected. "... what is the matter with you?" Malik asked, sounding odd. Altaïr hadn't heard that tone from Malik before and didn't know what to call it.

"Nothing's the matter," Altaïr answered. Really, Altaïr never understood why anyone asked that question. An assassin really only had one answer to give. They weren't supposed to admit to weakness, after all.

There was an awkward silence that Altaïr had no idea what to do with. He was never good with this sort of thing. Was he supposed to... do something? Ask the question back? Probably not... right?

Malik finally huffed. "You look like a mess. Rest here and go in the morning," he finally decreed.

Altaïr nodded, unable to quite stop his shoulders from slumping in relief. He didn't know how much more shouting he could have handled. Although, thankfully, Malik wasn't as loud as Al Mualim could get. Altaïr found the corner he'd used before and, though it wasn't as quiet and dark as he'd like, it was infinitely better than outside. Altaïr closed his eyes and tried to relax without letting on to the fact that he felt like trembling. For now, he could hold back the urge, but Altaïr wasn't sure for how long.

Altaïr was usually a light sleeper, but several nights on the streets led to him actually managing the whole night long uninterrupted. Malik was not any more friendly in the morning. Still, it was lucky that Altaïr had learned not to expect friendliness in the morning really anywhere. When Malik handed over the feather, he was oddly quiet about it. Altaïr wasn't sure why but got the tingling feeling down the back of his neck that meant someone was watching him. He assumed it was Malik though what he'd done to get such intense scrutiny, Altaïr couldn't begin to fathom. Nobody else had found anything worth scrutinizing about him lately. Aside from his somewhat lacking performance that he was desperately trying to mask as best he could.

Still, Altaïr wasn't about to ask. Asking would admit to noticing the staring, which would reveal there is a cause, which Altaïr couldn't do. Focusing on the target was a better plan. So, that was what he would do. Altaïr matched the pace of some scholars to make things easier for himself. He would risk running the roofs when he was in a bigger hurry. Right now, feeling the close presence of other people around him that he knew wasn't a threat felt like a cushion of safety that was almost comfortable. (Never entirely so because they would bump and nudge him and Altaïr couldn't quite fight the urge to pull into himself each time that happened. Strangers touching him was the worst thing ever).

Altaïr had briefly considered poisoning his blade or smuggling something into his target's drink. But that was discarded as an option. Altaïr had no idea _why_ , but they weren't allowed to use poison. It made no sense. Altaïr had been taught extensively by Al Mualim what all sorts of drugs and poisons did. Altaïr could identify some toxins smell alone; he had ingested it so many times in the past. Altaïr knew some were very deadly in the right doses. And with how unsure he was of his own skills at the moment, poisoning would be a safer method for him. But. He wasn't allowed...

So, Altaïr pushed down the urge to make things safer and easier for himself. He was able to get into position by taking his time and being probably overly cautious. His target glowed bright gold in his damaged eyes to the point it made tears build up. Altaïr tried to not look directly at the man, but he had to know where he was to kill him.

The kill went smoothly enough, but someone saw him. Who, Altaïr wasn't even sure, but chaos erupted, and he was forced to run across the rooftops. People were chasing him, and guards speckled around were quick to try and kill him. Altaïr could see the flashes of red all around, and he pushed himself harder. He wasn't entirely sure he was running the right way back to the bureau, but Altaïr certainly couldn't stop to get his bearings.

Pain slammed into Altaïr's side, and he stumbled hard. He hit the ground and rolled, more pain erupting as the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his body snapped off. Altaïr grunted but forced his feet under him again and tried to regain his pace. Each right step was a searing agony, but he pushed that down and focused only on where he was going. He knew there was a cart of hay just past the roof up ahead. Altaïr glanced behind him. A wall of violent red forms was following, and he mentally cursed. 

Without a pause to even try and see if he had safety below, Altaïr leapt. Luckily, he was good about remembering where safe spots were and landed deep in the hay. A few quick motions had the dried grasses settled across all of him, and Altaïr held still. His lungs were burning, and he felt hot sticky liquid seeping into his clothing around where his side was throbbing.

Altaïr closed his eyes and forced his heart to stop pounding so hard in his chest. Wrapping an arm around himself, Altaïr gently prodded the arrow wound. He could still feel the end of the wooden shaft sticking just a little bit out of his skin flush with the leather of his belt. Fresh hot blood was gushing from beneath his belt, which was very worrisome. Altaïr continued his careful sightless examination. He could feel the arrowhead just under the skin, so it was thankfully not too deep. But, if he removed it, Altaïr was afraid that the bleeding would get worse.

The bells ringing throughout the city eventually fell silent again, and Altaïr realized he should probably get moving. Sweat had built up over his skin, and Altaïr felt his hands shaking. He needed to get the wound treated and fast. He had no idea how long he'd been lying there in the hay, but it was probably too long.

Altaïr pushed the pain out of his mind with the skill born of long practice and hopped as best he could out of the cart. He knew that the white of his robes would be stained (he could feel the wetness seeping down from under his belt), so he tried to adjust his sash to at least somewhat disguise it. It was a painful thing to try, and Altaïr wasn't sure it worked at all. His ability to see colors was limited to the strange full-bodied glows that he now got. Once his sash was shifted around his waist, Altaïr started walking. He had to figure out where he'd run to. He'd been too preoccupied to keep track while actually fleeing the guards.

A doctor would be best, but Altaïr would settle for the bureau or even one of his hiding spots. He had started keeping some medical supplies in a few places scattered where doctors weren't a common sight or were too expensive. Altaïr didn't get lots of money anymore to just burn through it getting proper medical treatment. Altaïr tried to ignore the tearing, burning sensation from his wound as he walked, but it was hard. He had to fight the urge to put a hand to his side, especially as he felt sticky blood continuing to drip down his side and seep into his pants. He was bleeding far too much.

After a few minutes of walking, Altaïr finally got his bearings. Though the doctor was his preference, he was closer to the bureau. He would have to just endure Malik. Maybe he wouldn't be so angry now that he had the feather proving his success. Altaïr was aware that wasn't especially likely, but he hoped anyway. 

Climbing up the side of the bureau was enough to almost make Altaïr fall. His already dark vision spotted with pure black, but he was getting better at climbing blindly, so he didn't fall. Altaïr understood the reason there were no ground-level entrances to bureaus. However, it was still horrible in situations like this. Altaïr reached the roof and had to pause to catch his breath. Sweat dripped from his face, and his whole body was now shaking despite his efforts. His tongue felt swollen, and his thinking muddied. Altaïr could feel blood all down his side and clinging unpleasantly to his hands. Absently he hoped that he hadn't left a blood trail right to the bureau, but he couldn't see to be able to tell. At least he just had to get inside, and then he could get the arrowhead out and the wound treated. Malik could close up the bureau to protect it if need be.

Altaïr took another minute to try and catch his breath before shifting across the roof to the trellis covered entrance. The gate was opened, and Altaïr lowered himself down as carefully as he could. Unfortunately, his bloody hand was slick, and he dropped a few moments before he meant to. He landed hard and with a grunt of pain but was glad he hadn't face planted. Altaïr put his hand to his side again as he struggled to his feet. "Novice! Do you not know how to be silent?" Malik demanded. "The entire city was on high alert! And now-" Malik abruptly shut up as Altaïr made his way to where he saw darkness. Though his side was more pressing, his head was throbbing as well, and being inside would only help. "You're bleeding."

"I know," Altaïr said. Did Malik think him so stupid he didn't realize that? Altaïr almost sighed as he entered the slightly cooler interior of the bureau office and went towards the corner he favored. It was out of the way and dark, although far from the medical supplies. That was fine, though. Altaïr could make do as he had before.

"Novice. I keep the bandages under the counter," Malik said, sounding annoyed.

"I know," Altaïr said again. Why did Malik always feel he had to state the obvious? Although Altaïr was a Novice again, it wasn't as if he'd never done this before.

Altaïr shed his belt and sash before awkwardly removing his robes and the shirt beneath. It hurt to pull everything off with the arrow in his side, but Altaïr did his best to not let out noises of pain. He wasn't entirely successful, but he managed to be quiet about the whimpers and groans that escaped. With the heavy and now most likely ruined clothing gone, Altaïr rested his burning forehead against the cool stone wall to recover from the effort it had taken. His breathing, he noticed, was shallow, and his head felt as if filled with sand. He'd lost too much blood and really needed to stem the loss.

Altaïr felt a hand suddenly on his sweat-slick shoulder, and he jumped. "Stay still, Novice," Malik ordered. Altaïr wanted to protest, but turning would show his damaged eyes, and Malik was too close to hope he wouldn't notice. So instead, he just nodded and tried to stay as still as possible as Malik's hand moved down his back to his wounded side. At least Malik stayed several inches closer to Altaïr's spine and didn't prod the wound too much. "At least it's not deep. Your belt probably saved you."

"Probably," Altaïr muttered. He was trembling still, and he wasn't sure if that was from the pain or the strangeness of having someone touching his bare skin. So few people had ever done that. Altaïr wasn't sure how to react. It would probably be best to just do as Malik ordered and stay still. Following orders usually ended up... if not happily at least without punishment after.

"You weren't thinking of doing this yourself, were you?" Malik asked, his voice oddly disapproving though Altaïr couldn't place why. Surely, Malik didn't want to patch Altaïr of all people up. Not sure how to respond to the question, Altaïr fell back to silence. Being silent was safer than saying something wrong. Malik gave a noise of exasperation, and his fingers touched the outside edge of the angry, blood-slick wound. Altaïr couldn't help the hiss of pain it caused. "On three. One, two-"

Altaïr choked on his gasp of pain as Malik pulled the arrowhead out almost before he'd finished saying 'two' rather than after three. Malik tossed the bit of bloody metal onto the ground beside them and then took a rag to mop up Altaïr's blood. Altaïr closed his eyes again and tried to even out his breathing. He understood the idea behind what Malik had done, even if he didn't appreciate it. Altaïr was perfectly capable of not tensing before pain. He'd had plenty of practice. "Lay down. I'll need to stitch this, and I can't do that with you leaning over like this," Malik said.

Altaïr wanted to protest but was honestly too tired to bother when he knew he probably wouldn't win anyway. Malik could just _order_ him to now that their ranks were so different. Altaïr couldn't stop the heavy sigh that escaped, but he laid down among the carpet and pillows that had been tossed into the corner. It wasn't much cushion, but Altaïr had laid down on worse for much longer. He made sure to keep his back to Malik, and his eyes closed. He was without the shield of his hood and couldn't afford for someone who hated him to know he was not operating at his full abilities.

Malik got up and walked away for a moment, and Altaïr took the chance to shift slightly into a better position. It was only marginally better, but he would take it. When Malik returned, he set a tray down on the ground and something down in the small gap between Altaïr and the wall. Malik then wiped more blood off of Altaïr's damp skin with a warm rag. "I brought you some tea. You need to drink it," Malik said.

Altaïr sighed but opened his eyes. The corner was dark, and the cup that had been set down was small, so when he reached for it, he almost knocked it completely over. He managed not to, and, thankfully, Malik didn't do more than pause for a second before going back to cleaning Altaïr's skin of blood and sweat. Altaïr quickly drank the tea, noticing the drugs immediately in it as painkillers. Somewhat surprising as he hadn't at all expected Malik to care if he was in pain. "... you drugged it."

"A light dose," Malik said. "I'm not wasting valuable medicine on you, Novice, but I'm not stitching you up without anything, either."

Altaïr wasn't sure what to say to that and decided to say nothing. Instead, he set the cup back down as carefully as he could and closed his eyes again. Malik cleaned his wound another few moments and poured a solution that stung horribly across the wound before starting to stitch. Altaïr had gotten stitches plenty of times, and it was never pleasant. Once he got used to Malik's rhythm, though, he didn't even flinch as the needle went through his flesh. 

Slowly, Altaïr felt the trembling in his body stop, although the pain was still constant and made fresh sweat build on his skin. Malik would pause to clean off Altaïr's side again, but even that fell into a soon predictable enough rhythm. Altaïr was just glad that Malik wasn't as rough as he could be. He wasn't 'gentle' but didn't cause undue harm either.

Soon, the heat of the day, oppressive even inside the bureau, combined with the blood loss and medication had Altaïr almost dozing off. Never entirely because of the pain of his injury being stitched and Malik's hand occasionally brushing his skin. Those sensations were distracting enough to keep him from true sleep. But Altaïr was closer than he thought he'd reach in such a situation. "... you have a lot more scars than I thought you'd have," Malik said.

"I was a clumsy Novice," Altaïr said without really thinking about it. That was what Al Mualim always said anyway. Altaïr was clumsy and disobedient at times. Hence the scars. He'd grown out of it with the help of the discipline and lessons of Al Mualim.

"You're still a clumsy Novice," Malik said.

"I don't try to be," Altaïr murmured.

Malik grunted but said nothing else. Altaïr was able to almost drift off again. He even stopped twitching when Malik's hand would brush over his side or back to wipe away sweat or blood that continued to slowly drip down his skin, although much slower than before. The pain was turning into numbness from how long it had been in his side, which was a relief. It helped his mind drift away from the situation like he tended to do when things were unpleasant. 

"When were you whipped?" Malik asked suddenly.

Altaïr, not having been fully awake nor expecting the question, didn't really think much of it. "Hm?"

"These marks here," Malik said, running his knuckle along one long line down Altaïr's back. "They're from a whip, aren't they?" Altaïr hummed again and nodded. "When did you get whipped?" Malik asked again.

"A long time ago," Altaïr said.

"How long ago?"

Altaïr was confused by the sudden interest but was not feeling up to a fight that he would likely get into if he refused to answer a question from an Assassin of higher rank. "I don't know. A decade at least."

There was a pause. "You wouldn't have even been a Novice then!" Malik said, sounding oddly shocked and upset. Altaïr wasn't sure why.

"Yes?" Altaïr suddenly felt ten times more exposed than he had at first. He wasn't sure why. He didn't like people seeing his body, but he hadn't thought much of exposing it when he was getting an injury treated. Maybe this too fell under the modesty that Al Mualim said he didn't have enough of? He never had been able to understand Al Mualim's rules regarding that.

"Altaïr, why-what-why were you whipped so young?" Malik demanded. "For what possible reason was that considered appropriate?"

Altaïr was now entirely lost. He glanced over his shoulder despite the danger there. Malik was sparking so many different colors it made Altaïr feel vaguely nauseous. "I was clumsy," Altaïr repeated. Malik made an odd noise that Altaïr had never heard before and so wasn't sure how to interpret. It almost sounded like he'd been hit, but he hadn't, so the reason behind it was a complete mystery. "... weren't we all?" Altaïr asked.

The silence between them was awkward and uncomfortable, and Altaïr didn't know what to do to alleviate it. He was never good with people. He couldn't figure out how they worked like he could a hidden blade or a sword move. So, Altaïr turned fully towards the wall again, and if Malik wanted the silence broken, he could do it. The tension stretched for several more minutes before Malik started stitching again. Altaïr was no longer half asleep and didn't think he'd get there anytime soon. Something about the conversation had unsettled him, but he wasn't sure what.

He hadn't lied, nor refused to answer, or talked back. So, why did Altaïr feel like he'd done something wrong? Usually, this sort of uncomfortable silence happened after he'd made an error and was waiting for the correction. That hadn't been something he'd experienced for years before the debacle in Solomon's Temple. But lately, it had been something he'd gotten to expect again. Although, it was mostly yelling now, which was at least somewhat an improvement. Would Malik start yelling at him again? Altaïr hoped not. He didn't like it when people yelled at him.

_Then you shouldn't make such mistakes,_ Al Mualim's voice chimed in. _If you don't like it. Do better._

Altaïr shivered despite himself. He didn't like his Master's tone. Even in his head, it was full of disapproval, and Altaïr hated disappointing his Master. Malik said nothing, but Altaïr wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Was Malik upset? Or had he just realized that Altaïr had just gotten punished like all children had and had overreacted about it?

After several more minutes, Malik sighed and tied off the thread he was using. "Sit up, Altaïr. I need to bandage it now," he said, although his voice still sounded a little odd to Altaïr. Maybe it was just from how long they had been silent.

Altaïr pushed himself up, still facing the wall. His pants were sticking to his skin from the blood and sweat, and his side was a large ache. Malik got up, and Altaïr cautiously glanced after him. Malik left the room and then returned a few moments later, carrying what might have been a bowl of some sort. Altaïr quickly looked away again to hide his eyes. Malik sat down behind Altaïr and silently washed the blood and sweat off of Altaïr with fresh cool water. It actually felt incredibly nice against his heated skin. He even sighed a little before he could stop it.

Malik said nothing about it and just kept slowly cleaning the last traces of dirt from Altaïr's wound. Altaïr noticed the cloth moving up his back and washing away the sweat clinging to his skin there as well. It was higher than the bandages would go, Altaïr thought, but he didn't know how to bring it up, so he didn't. Plus, it did feel sort of nice. In an odd way that Altaïr had never considered before.

Suddenly Malik cleared his throat and pulled the cloth away. "Hold the end in place and then keep your arms up out of the way," Malik ordered as he put the roll of bandages right by Altaïr's non-injured side. Altaïr did as he was told, and after a few times around his middle, he no longer had to hold the end in place. Malik wrapped his injury well and then tied it off. It took longer than it would have if Malik still had both arms, but Altaïr was just glad he'd gotten help at all.

Malik, once he was done, gathered up the remains of the supplies on the tray and then got up. Altaïr watched him leave again, trying to figure out what all the different sparks of colors along his form meant. Altaïr had never thought of nor seen people like rainbow shards rolling around in water before. He didn't know how to interpret it. Was it a bad or good sign? Altaïr didn't know.

Realizing he was staring and having been told people didn't like that, Altaïr trained his eyes to the wall in front of him. It was dark and featureless as usual. That was almost becoming a soothing thing he was getting so used to it. Even if it did make doing things that much harder. Malik was doing something behind the counter, and Altaïr supposed he should deliver the feather and leave the bureau. But the thought of getting up and leaving was frankly exhausting.

He heard something flutter through the air and then cloth land near him. Altaïr looked but could only make out a strange dark shape. "Yours is ruined," Malik said. "Don't know if it'll fit, but I don't have many choices of spares around."

Altaïr reached out and gingerly picked up the fabric. It was a robe, much like the one he'd been wearing earlier. Luckily it had a hood, so after a moment to test which way the seams ran, and the hood sat, he was able to figure out which way was front. He pulled it on despite the ache from his side and left the hood up to cover his eyes. It was comforting to have the safety of the hood again, although he hoped it wasn't too obvious.

The robe did turn out to be a little small but not too bad. It clung uncomfortably but didn't seem in danger of any of the seams tearing. And it was only for a short while anyway. At least the hood was plenty large enough still. Altaïr wasn't sure if he'd be able to repair his belt on his own. He wasn't the best leather-worker even when he could see what he was doing properly. _You've never been good with delicate tasks,_ Al Mualim said.

"You shouldn't stay there."

Altaïr almost jumped at Malik's sudden words but managed to restrain the reflex. Ah. Of course. Silly of him to think he'd be allowed to rest before leaving. Malik disliked him for a good reason. "... I'll gather my things and be gone soon," Altaïr assured him.

"Gone?" Malik echoed. "What in Allah's name are you talking about? I just spent hours stitching your side shut. You're not about to ruin my hard work. There's a cot you can use in the other room was what I meant."

Altaïr was caught flat-footed. "... a cot?"

"Yes, Novice. A cot. I know it isn't the grand room that the Master gave you, but you'll have to deal with that," Malik said, annoyance creeping back into his voice.

"A cot is fine," Altaïr said. He wasn't entirely sure what grand room that Malik meant. True, he'd moved into the keep after his father died, but he hadn't been given any sort of special quarters from what Altaïr could tell. But, every time Altaïr corrected people about things like that, they got angry with him for some reason.

Malik grunted and waved. A flash of golden color that Altaïr only saw out of the corner of his eye. But it was enough to tell Altaïr he was meant to follow. He gathered up his few things and carefully got to his feet. Altaïr didn't allow the groan of pain to escape. He followed Malik through the curtain and to one side. It was hard to see due to how dark it was. There was only one source of light. A small sliver of a window and it was at the other end of what seemed to be a short hall. 

There was a creak of hinges, and Altaïr thought that he saw a door open. "In here," Malik said. 

Altaïr stepped into the room and glanced around, straining his eyes to see the vague shapes as what they really were. He thought that long thing on the side was the cot he'd heard about and dropped his things onto the end. "... thank you, Malik."

Malik snorted a bit. "It's my job to look after idiot Novices."

Altaïr nodded and reached for his belt. It took a moment to find the front and therefore know which pocket he used to keep the feather in, and he hoped his fumbling wasn't too noticeable. Altaïr pulled the crumpled and blood-encrusted feather from his pocket and held it out to Malik. "I did succeed at least..." he said.

There was a moment of quiet, and Altaïr watched Malik out of the side of his eye. Malik slowly reached out and took the feather from him, and Altaïr turned away. He wasn't sure what to do now. Altaïr should probably leave, but he honestly didn't want to try riding a horse with a side injured. Plus, Malik said he should stay. He didn't say it like it was an order, but he hadn't said it like a suggestion either. Altaïr was torn. 

"Rest," Malik said. "You'll be no good to anyone if you reopen your wound." That was clearly an order, at least. Altaïr nodded and sat down on the edge of the cot. Malik lingered another few moments before leaving the room. Altaïr felt some tension that he hadn't been entirely aware of ease. The room was dark with no windows, and he was the only one in it, which meant he was essentially really blind and not just mostly blind. If he didn't strain his eyes trying to figure out what the vague shapes were, the remnants of the headache he'd been feeling for hours wouldn't worsen into anything serious. 

Altaïr wondered when he stopped being afraid of the constant darkness and started wanting it. The change had happened slowly, so he hadn't noticed. But he remembered hating the dark before this. Almost as much as his dislike of large bodies of water. The dark had always been when the worst lessons were taught. He excelled at them. Eventually. But Al Mualim had had to punish him many times before he'd stopped trying to avoid them. But now it was the only place his eyes didn't give him problems.

Altaïr pushed the cot as far into the corner as he could get it and arranged the table just so in front of it with his sword balanced on the surface where he could find the hilt even without sight. A little fumbling found him a chair that he put in front of the door so he'd be alerted if the door was opened. Faint noises would no doubt wake him (he had always been a light sleeper), but Altaïr wanted to ensure it.

After arranging the room properly, Altaïr decided to get some rest. His pants were truly becoming uncomfortable with the blood and sweat drying on them. With a grimace, Altaïr took them off and dropped them near the bed. His borrowed robe covered his bottom half somewhat anyway. Though it wasn't ideal. Not by a long shot. Altaïr laid down with his hidden blade fastened to his wrist, dagger under his pillow, and sword just on the table in front of him. Only then did he find himself relaxing enough to drift off again.

He didn't sleep well. Things weren't ever _right_ when he wasn't in his own room. He'd tried to get the one in the bureau as close as he could, but there was only so much Altaïr could do. But what woke him was the chair being pushed out of the way when the door opened. Altaïr was half upright with his sword held in front of him, his eyes unfocused and sight even darker as things tended to be when he first woke up. The riot of colors he saw and the one-armed form was definitely that of Malik. There was a pause. "Safety and peace, Altaïr," Malik said. "First meal will be ready shortly."

Altaïr forced his heart to slow and took a breath. He nodded to show he heard, but his voice didn't want to be found just then. Malik stayed there for another moment before leaving, closing the door behind him firmly. Only when Altaïr heard the click of the door set into place did he find his grip relaxing. This was why he hated sleeping in strange places.

Altaïr took some time to find fresh pants that weren't covered in dried blood and dirt. He wasn't sure who they belonged to, but they were clean and fit better than the spare robe he had been given did. He would have to replace his own clothes as soon as possible. Altaïr really didn't like wearing or using things that weren't his. Still, he would force himself to deal with it as best he could, because what other choice did he have?

After an awkward morning meal where Altaïr said little and stayed mostly in his usual corner while Malik seemed preoccupied, Altaïr quickly took his leave. Malik complained and threatened bodily harm if Altaïr ruined all of his hard work, which Altaïr found sort of a strange thing to threaten. But Altaïr didn't think about it too hard since he had no intention of tearing his stitches out. "Altaïr," Malik called just before Altaïr started up to the bureau entrance. Altaïr paused and turned but kept his eyes off to the left where he didn't have to try and look directly at the different color shape that was Malik. Oddly the shifting was calming down, but it was still enough to make Altaïr's sensitive eyes sting.

There was a long silence, but Malik didn't seem to have any reason to have called Altaïr. But there had to be. Because why else would Malik not want Altaïr of all people to leave? Perhaps Altaïr had forgotten to do something? Was Malik waiting for Altaïr to realize what it was? There was nothing he could think of, although Altaïr ran through everything that had happened and distinctly remembered doing everything he was required. Feather. Report (such as it was). And said his official farewell. All done. 

Malik sighed, and the glaring silhouette that was his form shook its head. "Nevermind. Just don't cause any more trouble, Novice," he said.

Altaïr was still confused but nodded and heaved himself up to the hole in the ceiling. Though he had no idea what that had been about, that wasn't very unusual, so he didn't think about it too hard. He had other things to worry about than whatever Malik had told him to forget about anyway. He wouldn't have done that if it were actually important.

After returning to Masyaf, Altaïr was advanced a few ranks again. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. Why had he been demoted at all if Al Mualim was just going to give him the ranks back for killing a few people? It wasn't as if he had learned anything new. He'd already known the Creed by heart. He just hadn't realized it wasn't flexible. If Al Mualim had explained that to Altaïr before none of this would have happened. Well, he didn't imagine that it would have since he'd gotten yelled at so much recently over it.

Al Mualim praised him for his work again, but Altaïr wasn't as happy as he thought he'd be for it. The harsh scoldings and demotions still stung. Al Mualim gave Altaïr a new list and sent him on his way. Altaïr was allowed to get some of his equipment back, and he took the time to refamiliarize himself with it. He had to get used to using them without seeing them too.

His eyes, he was beginning to fear, were never going to return to how they were. Every doctor that Altaïr approached had been utterly baffled. They said that while being blinded by a hit to the head wasn't unheard of, the flashes of color definitely were. Altaïr wondered if he was explaining it properly. He'd tried to explain the true colors of people before. To Al Mualim. His Master had just waved off Altaïr's words as childish thoughts and told him to return to his training. Altaïr was reasonably sure it wasn't him being childish but had no better explanation, either.

Altaïr risked a few sparring sessions with Rauf, but the other Assassin had seemed distracted. But that only helped even them out because Altaïr wasn't as accurate as he used to be in a fight. Rauf questioned him after the session and asked if Altaïr was feeling alright. Again with the question that only had one answer. He hated being asked that. Altaïr said he was (like he was supposed to) and then decided it would be best to start on his second list of targets.

The second list was harder to accomplish. The targets were better protected and now on alert because their accomplices were slowly picked off. But, Altaïr wasn't intimidated by that. He'd gone after well-guarded men before. Admittedly, he hadn't been handicapped with partial blindness at the time, but he was getting better at working around that.

Altaïr tried his best to put off returning to Jerusalem. It was an awkward place to go for him. He wasn't sure where he stood with Malik after what happened the last time he was in the Jerusalem bureau, and he still didn't know what the riot of colors could be. Altaïr both wanted to know and was afraid of what the answer to the mystery might mean. But, Altaïr knew he couldn't put off returning to Jerusalem for too long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing just keeps getting longer and longer... after cutting it off at 10,000 words last time I was all 'oh yeah, I can wrap this up in one more chapter...' bah.

Altaïr dropped down into the Jerusalem Bureau silently. Altaïr had deliberately waited until it was late. Almost to the point where he was rendered entirely blind in the dark. But he had been hoping to get away with not having to talk too much to Malik. He didn't _want_ to argue with Malik. Altaïr fondly remembered -when they were much, much younger- Altaïr and Malik had been friendlier. Not as friendly as Altaïr and Abbas were, but better than now. Then everything had started going wrong.

First, Altaïr's Father had been killed, leaving him even more alone than before. Altaïr had not been able to handle it well. At all. His father had been the only one that had capable of explaining things to Altaïr. Umar was Altaïr's rock, and when he was killed, Altaïr floundered horribly. He had been so alone and so angry. And Altaïr had no idea how to communicate that aside from outbursts when it got to be too much. The few friends he had pulled away quickly as he became more and more unstable. Altaïr had not been able to get them back.

Then, Abbas' Father had come to Altaïr. In the middle of the night. Broke in. Altaïr had never handled waking up to sudden unexpected things well. The man had been entirely too terrifying with his rambling apology, and emotional break down that Altaïr couldn't process. Then he'd slit his throat.

Altaïr wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, unable to comprehend everything that had happened. Too long, probably. Things like that always took too long for him to absorb. And it had been the first death Altaïr had ever seen. Umar had always told him the first death was always the hardest. That Altaïr, in particular, would have to prepare himself for it. Build up to something like that. But he hadn't prepared himself. The first sight of death was supposed to be years off yet. Altaïr hadn't expected Abbas' Father to break into his home and slit his own throat in front of him.

Altaïr finally got it together enough to go to Al Mualim, but he didn't remember too much of that night after that. Or really the rest of the week after. Altaïr was moved into the castle, and Al Mualim had said Abbas' Father had left the Order. Al Mualim had said it was to protect Abbas, and Altaïr accepted that. He couldn't look at his last remaining friend without seeing his Father's death anyway. They stopped being friends.

Al Mualim said Altaïr didn't need friends anyway. And, though that conflicted with things Umar had told Altaïr before, Altaïr found thinking too much about his Father lead him down into a spiral where he couldn't properly function like Al Mualim said he must. He made it a habit to not think about any of that. Besides, Al Mualim supported him fully. He'd asked many things Altaïr had not been happy with, but Altaïr owed his Master everything. He'd picked up the pieces and held them together until Altaïr had managed to properly function again. The very least Altaïr could give his Master was his unquestioning loyalty.

"Back again, are you?"

Altaïr blinked and realized the fluctuating rainbow that was Malik was standing there. His one arm crossed over his chest to hold onto what remained of his other. Altaïr was slow to react since he hadn't expected Malik to come out to the courtyard. He should have. But he hadn't. "... safety and peace, Malik," Altaïr recited. Altaïr was glad for that standard greeting. It always lets him know what he should say in situations like this.

Malik snorted. "With you here? Doubtful I'll find either. Don't stand there like some fiend in the night. Come inside already."

Altaïr was a bit confused but straightened fully and did as he was told. "So, you are here to kill another evil man," Malik said. "It won't be so easy this time. The guards have been on much higher alert since your disastrous last visit."

"Disastrous?" Altaïr echoed.

Malik turned, his aura sparking a reddish-orange. Less than anger -it must be annoyance. "You were spotted, chased through half the city, and injured. Disaster rather fits, wouldn't you say, Novice?"

Well. When he said it like that, it did sound bad. Worse than Altaïr would have thought. He didn't like admitting to things like that, but Altaïr never lied, and Malik had asked a question. "... I... suppose." Malik paused, and the orange vanished entirely. Judging by the angle of his head, Malik was looking at Altaïr now, and the lower-ranked Assassin averted his eyes in discomfort. "I am not a Novice, though..."

"You're always a Novice to me," Malik said although with less bite than Altaïr expected. Altaïr couldn't quite figure why Malik was no longer annoyed but didn't think to ask and showing how little he understood the change was wise. Most people interpreted him saying he didn't understand things in very strange ways that made Altaïr even more confused. Even Al Mualim sometime seemed to get angry when Altaïr said he didn't understand something, and his Master had learned by now what Altaïr was like.

Altaïr came to stand in front of Malik's desk. He hoped this did not take long. A few candles were lit around the room, lighting up little spaces of whatever they were sitting on but not too much else. There was nothing that showed up in his vision aside from Malik, and that made it hard to not look at the other man. But it was rude to stare. So Altaïr shouldn't. It was a situation Altaïr didn't feel like he could win. He couldn't decide where to let his eyes rest, and so they kept drifting to Malik and then darting away when he caught himself looking too long.

They stood there for several minutes in silence. Was Altaïr supposed to say or do something? He'd given the standard greeting already. It would be very silly to say it again. Malik was going to have to give some sort of clue as to what he wanted.

The silence stretched uncomfortably long between them. Finally, Malik seemed to realize Altaïr wasn't going to be the one to break it. He sighed, flashing the colors that Altaïr was beginning to associate with Malik annoyed with him. What on Earth had Altaïr done this time to earn that, he wondered.

 _It is easy to get annoyed with you when you act stupid, Altaïr. It's a fault of yours,_ Al Mualim said.

"We will talk in the morning of your target and what you must do," Malik said. "For now, rest. It is late."

Altaïr nodded and went to sit in the corner he favored that was well protected but that he could still see most of the room from. Well, as much as he could see anything. The quiet that Altaïr liked was still vaguely uncomfortable, and Altaïr wished it would go back to the way it was supposed to be.

Slowly, the discomfort began to fade as Malik started doing something over at his desk. Altaïr watched out of the corner of his eye from under his hood. The riot of colors was starting to settle as Malik pulled papers closer to himself and started his work. Altaïr found it oddly mesmerizing watching the brief flares of different colors settle into a pale blue. Every once in awhile, shards of the other emotions would flash again, but they faded quicker than before.

Altaïr wondered why Malik was unlike anyone else he'd seen since his vision was damaged. Most everyone Altaïr saw glowing only picked up the single color. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that they'd both gotten hurt from the same mistake? Altaïr's mistake. Altaïr didn't know, it was too complicated a question for him.

After some time of watching Malik, Altaïr felt his eyes starting to throb from too much use. That was unfortunate because watching Malik work was... nice. The Dai seemed calmer when he was drawing his maps, and the colors that blossomed and faded within his silhouette were less jarring. But, Altaïr didn't want to drive himself to tears from pain, so he shifted and closed his eyes. 

His eyes might be broken, but Altaïr could still listen. The scratching of instruments against parchment let Altaïr know that Malik was still working and was a frequent enough noise to fall into a pleasant background sound. Enough so that Altaïr slowly drifted off to sleep sitting there against the wall.

* * *

_Altaïr was staring out of the window at the bright blue sky. He liked the sky. It was safe and friendly. Blue, like his father, had been. Altaïr liked to get as close to it as he could. Sometimes, he thought, perhaps, if he got high enough and jumped, he would be able to fly. He never did, though. He always fell, and -though Al Mualim said he was stupid- Altaïr was smart enough to know he always would. And yet... sometimes the urge to jump and see rose up so strong Altaïr almost couldn't fight the impulse to leap out of a window. Even if he knew there wasn't a safe landing beneath..._

_There was a rustle nearby, but Altaïr didn't look. He'd rather look at the sky. The sky was safe and friendly. Altaïr knew his Master wanted Altaïr to look at him, but Al Mualim seemed to have given up on that demand finally. Altaïr stared at the cloudless sky through the window, glad to not be forced to look away like he had in the past. Altaïr wasn't sure if he'd passed. He didn't think he had. He never seemed to. Even though Altaïr tried his best, he couldn't do **what** Al Mualim wanted **how** he wanted Altaïr to do it. Al Mualim used his thumb to brush away moisture from Altaïr's face. Altaïr didn't flinch. Assassin's never flinched, Al Mualim said._

_"Good," Al Mualim said. His voice was a modicum warmer than usual, but it was enough to let Altaïr feel the beginnings of happiness again and relax just a little bit. As much as was comfortable to relax given the situation, anyway. If he slumped too much, then the tight ropes would cut even more into his skin, and Altaïr didn't like rope burns very much. They were worse than bruises, although not as difficult as a whipping would be._

_Al Mualim leaned closer, and Altaïr's mind was screaming red at him. Al Mualim was always red in situations like this, which was so confusing because other times, he wasn't. It was confusing, but the red was so violently clear in his mind Altaïr couldn't ignore it. The only way Altaïr could fight the urge to tremble was by focusing on the blue sky instead. "Very good, Altaïr," Al Mualim said again. That burgeoning happiness fluttered a little bit at the praise he so craved but rarely got. He was being good. And Al Mualim was happy with him._

_"Now, I have some business to deal with. If you are still here when I return, I will have to punish you, Altaïr," Al Mualim said. His voice was kind and gentle, but he was still flaring red in Altaïr's mind. It was so confusing. Altaïr wasn't sure what reaction was right, so instead did nothing. "Do you understand, Altaïr?"_

_Altaïr gave a short nod. He understood the words, just not the conflicting mental messages. "Good. I don't **want** to punish you, Altaïr-" **Red, red, red.** "-but these are lessons you must learn if you're to become an Assassin. You do want to be an Assassin still, don't you?"_

_Altaïr nodded again. His father had been a great Assassin. Altaïr wanted to be like his Father. "Then you have to do this," Al Mualim said, wiping more moisture from Altaïr's soft boyish cheek. "Make me proud, Altaïr."_

_**RED** _

_Al Mualim pulled away, and the tightness in Altaïr's chest, that he hadn't been fully aware of, eased. He listened to his Master shuffling around for another moment before the door opened. Only once the chamber door closed and locked did the red stop screaming through Altaïr's mind. Altaïr still couldn't look away from the sky, though. The bright blue was comforting, and Altaïr just needed that for a moment._

_Altaïr wasn't sure how long he stayed there looking out of the window. More time than he could probably afford to spend. But it took that long to make his mind work again. To pull it back out of the strange circle that he'd found himself stuck in of what happened, what his Master said, what his Master did, and what Altaïr did or didn't do. He'd gotten stuck in those sorts of spirals before, but he didn't have time for that right now. Al Mualim said he needed to be gone. Or Altaïr would be punished. He didn't want to be punished. Punishments hurt._

_Altaïr knew time was of the essence, but he started slowly testing each tight rope around his body. If Altaïr didn't panic, then he had a better chance of getting free. The ropes were tighter than usual, but Altaïr wasn't going to let that deter him. Methodically, Altaïr strained against each and every one. When they didn't relent, he began to twist and pull and contort to find some weakness in the complex series of knots and loops. He could do this. Altaïr knew that he could. And Al Mualim wouldn't have put him into a situation that was impossible to win. He wanted Altaïr to succeed. He said so all the time._

_The ropes were not usually this difficult, and Altaïr couldn't find a way to twist that would get him free. The sky through the window was growing darker. Less comforting. Altaïr tried to remain calm as he struggled to get free, but it was getting harder and harder. Al Mualim would be back soon, and Altaïr hadn't managed to get free yet. He had to. The ropes were getting tighter, and Altaïr was losing his calm. He had to get free!_

_Altaïr twisted and pulled harder than before, turning his skin raw wherever the ropes were. He had to! If he could just twist a bit more-_

"Altaïr!"

Altaïr's eyes snapped open, and his hidden blade was already heading to where he expected vitals to be. The flashing figure in front of him registered halfway through the motion, but it was too late. Luckily, Malik caught his wrist, and Altaïr had enough sense to stop from pulling another weapon or forcing his hand closer despite Malik's iron-strong grip. The tip of his blade was pointed right at Malik's neck and was already dangerously close.

Altaïr was out of breath and not entirely sure what had just happened, but Malik was in front of him, flashing all sorts of colors from red and gold to blue and green. Altaïr should apologize for attacking Malik. He hadn't meant to, but that was hardly an excuse. He should have better control. But the words wouldn't form. He just sat there frozen.

Malik was quiet for a moment. "You were having a nightmare, Novice," Malik said finally. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Altaïr had to swallow to make his tongue work again. "You.... you didn't," Altaïr said.

Malik snorted, "Then you just don't like being woken up then, I take it?" He tightened his grip on Altaïr's wrist just a little to bring Altaïr's attention to it. "No wonder you're so popular with the women," he added sarcastically before finally letting Altaïr's wrist go.

The hidden blade slipped back down, and Altaïr pulled his hand back. "I'm not used to it," he said. After a moment, Altaïr shifted back towards the wall. "... I-perhaps I might have been startled..." he admitted. There was no point in attempting to lie when he was so bad at it. Not even to save face.

"You don't say," Malik said dryly. Altaïr averted his eyes. Hopefully, Malik would attribute the problem of his eyes not focusing on him just waking up. "What were you dreaming about?" Malik asked.

"Nothing of consequence," Altaïr said. 

"... you were making noises again."

Altaïr lifted his head some. "Again?"

"Yes, Novice. You make noises when you sleep. At least, two out of the three times you've slept here, you have," Malik said. 

"Oh. Nobody's ever said..." Not that Altaïr ever slept that close to people. He was too vulnerable when he was asleep. People might get too close to him or wake him up to slit their own throats in front of him. "... sorry."

Malik sparked in annoyance again. What had Altaïr done this time? "You know, I don't understand you-"

"Most don't," Altaïr said.

Those sparks grew more plentiful. "Don't interrupt, Novice. It's things exactly like that that I'm talking about. You're so arrogant about some things, and then you turn around and apologize for muttering nonsense sounds in your sleep," Malik said. "Goodness, Altaïr, I wasn't looking for an apology. You weren't bothering me. I just wanted to be sure it wasn't because you were uncomfortable or hurt that you were making those noises. It can't be good for you to sleep against the wall like that."

Altaïr turned to look at the wall he'd been sitting against. He hadn't really thought about that before. Nor did he really expect Malik to care about something like that. He was taking his appointment of Dai here to Jerusalem very seriously, though, so maybe he should have. "... oh. No, I'm not hurt."

Malik still flashed with annoyance but not as much as before. "It's still late. You might want to go lay down in the other room," he said. "Get some real sleep."

"I'm fine here," Altaïr said. He felt safer pressed into the stone corner like he was. Although, Malik had gotten oddly close without Altaïr waking up. That was unusual. Perhaps Altaïr was more tired than he thought since not even Al Mualim could get so close to Altaïr when he was asleep. Not anymore.

Malik let out a noise that the colors told Altaïr was pure exasperation. "Stubborn, Novice. Fine. Don't complain when you wake up sore. Or try and use it as an excuse when you botch your tasks," he said as he got to his feet. Altaïr nodded even though he was _almost_ sure that his response wasn't necessary. Malik walked away, and Altaïr watched until the curtain cut off the glow of his unique aura.

Sleep didn't come easily to Altaïr after his dream, so all he did for the rest of the night was lightly doze. He knew the moment that Malik was up and about even though he hadn't come into the office of the Bureau yet. Altaïr could hear very faint noises of movement further in the building. He could probably leave now and start his investigation. His Master had given Altaïr the name of the target, and that, in theory, should be all Altaïr needed to start. But he was also supposed to start any job in a city by first discussing it with the Bureau leader, in this case, Malik. Altaïr liked the consistency of starting every job the same way. It was grounding and helped put him in the right mindset. So, even though he might toy with the idea, Altaïr knew he would ultimately stay until Malik released him into the city.

Luckily, Malik came out of his backroom in short order. He made a small meal, which he all but insisted Altaïr participate in. The firm command to eat had bewildered Altaïr entirely, but he couldn't think of a way to decline. So they shared yet another quiet first meal. Altaïr was surprised at how... non-hostile it was. Malik didn't seem friendly in the morning, but he also didn't seem inclined to argue. Altaïr was fine with not interacting and let Malik lead what scarce comments that might be stretched into being considered a conversation went. 

After they had eaten and Malik put away the dishes, he seemed to be more awake and sociable. Or, as sociable as he ever was with Altaïr. They talked briefly about the target, and, to Altaïr's surprise, Malik even offered some leads this time where he hadn't before. Perhaps because Altaïr had succeeded last time even though Malik had called it a disaster? Altaïr didn't know. He couldn't fathom people's motivations sometimes. A lot of times.

But, Altaïr had Malik's permission to start working, so off he went to investigate. He had to find a way to his target at a time where the man would be easiest to kill. Altaïr didn't anticipate too many problems with that. 

His new target was in a different section of the city, though. One Altaïr hadn't memorized from before. So it would take him time to do that first. Altaïr had created a new routine in order to deal with his lack of sight, and the first priority was always to run all over the city and explore it as entirely as he could. His favorite method was to climb up tall towers and look far into the distance. Even with Altaïr's damaged eyes, he could see the dark lines of the sun hitting most of the roofs and therefore make out the streets down below with decent accuracy. Altaïr would still investigate closer to the ground level and then again actually on the streets until he was sure he had a clear idea of where things were. He'd never put so much effort into memorizing his surroundings before, but now it was vital. Altaïr couldn't just spot a unique sign or colorful decoration and remember where he went from there. His landmarks had to be a great deal more unique now. Or at least larger. Towers were still remarkably helpful for orientation, at least.

The sun was only about halfway down towards the horizon when Altaïr felt the throbbing behind his eyes forewarning of another crippling headache. He didn't have the information he was looking for yet, but this particular area was heavy with guards and criminals, and Altaïr was worried about being outside among them in such a vulnerable state. He would have to hurry to get back to the Bureau before the pain set in fully, but Altaïr didn't see too much choice. Unless he found some garden to stay in again, he supposed. That wasn't a particularly appealing prospect. Altaïr greatly disliked sleeping outside. He couldn't set anything up to how he liked it if he were in a garden rather than inside a room.

The sun was beginning to sting Altaïr's eyes and dig into his head painfully as he ran over rooftops. Seeing how late in the day it was and the usual amount of time an episode lasted, Altaïr was certain he'd be all but useless the rest of the day. So, he stopped by a doctor he'd spoken to previously and got the medicine that would make the pain far less intense. He didn't like the side effects, but Altaïr thought he'd dislike letting Malik see him crying into his knees like a child more.

Altaïr already felt as if he should claw his eyes out of his skull as he carefully climbed up the side of a building so that he could make it into the Bureau's roof entrance. He was still several streets away, and his vision was blurring and unfocused even more so than usual. The bright auras of people felt like they were searing permanently into his brain, and Altaïr couldn't look even near anyone. He closed his eyes as much as he could to help, although it didn't help that much because he also needed to see to jump over gaps.

Altaïr had to pause a few times to regain some semblance of control over himself. That meant that the few minutes of running turned into a nearly twenty-minute trial. Altaïr felt such intense relief when he dropped down through the trellis into the Bureau courtyard he nearly cried. He did take a minute with his head bowed to catch his breath and let the throbbing ease.

Surprisingly, Altaïr didn't hear Malik right away. Altaïr had expected the Dai to be right on him the moment he came in like he usually was. So either Malik was in the back, or he was out running an errand. No matter which was correct, it gave Altaïr a chance to get inside and out of the excruciating sun that was sending spikes through his eye sockets. Altaïr kept his eyes half-closed, although that didn't help very much to abate the pain. He still couldn't see or hear Malik nearby, so Altaïr thought he must be out. 

The medication that Altaïr had gotten from the doctor was a type that was smoked, which was another reason Altaïr didn't like using it. He didn't carry with him any method of smoking it usually. Luckily, Malik had a rarely used hookah in the Bureau that Altaïr could borrow. 

Altaïr fumbled with it a bit, not used to setting something like that up and still fighting the crushing pressure in his skull. Once he had managed to get the device working, Altaïr sat back in the dark and allowed himself the brief reprieve of the medicinal smoke despite the fact it burned his lungs uncomfortably.

Hopefully, Malik would take his time in coming back. He would no doubt be annoyed to find Altaïr like he was. Might even call him lazy again. And it wasn't as if Altaïr could explain that he wanted to bash his head against the stones behind him. Altaïr kept his eyes closed as he took slow regular drags of the smoke. The pain didn't want to relent but began to do so as the medicine worked through his system. It seemed to take both too long and no time at all somehow. Altaïr wasn't sure how that worked.

Time seemed to be moving in starts and stops, and Altaïr had no idea when it happened, but suddenly he was talking to Malik. Not about anything particularly important -how expensive certain herbs were- but Altaïr commented anyway. He hadn't had much experience in buying herbs, but he agreed with whatever Malik had been grumbling about anyway. Altaïr wasn't even entirely sure what he said in response.

The conversation was getting away from him, and Altaïr kept drifting in and out of it. He wasn't sure if Malik noticed or not. Altaïr thought he was doing a rather good job of hiding how the medication was affecting him. Altaïr could recall one minute talking about the herbs, then about annoying guards, and then -for some reason- complaining about the mixed information he had been getting from Al Mualim. Altaïr hadn't realized he was still somewhat bitter, and, more importantly, confused about what had happened after Solomon's Temple. Malik was definitely not the one Altaïr should be complaining about it to, but Altaïr couldn't seem to catch the words before he was blurting them out.

"You mean you still don't understand?" Malik asked, sounding angry again. "And here I thought you were learning! What is there to misunderstand, Novice? Your foolish disregard of the Creed caused all of this!"

Altaïr shook his head. "No, no, no," he said without opening his eyes. "That's not what I meant..."

"Then what do you mean?" Malik demanded.

"Hmm... I mean..." Altaïr licked his dry lips. He was surprisingly thirsty all of a sudden. He tried to force his jumble of thoughts into some semblance of order. "Master said breaking the Creed wasn't always bad..." Altaïr said. "Exceptions happen... but then he said different after the Temple..."

Malik was silent for a moment, and Altaïr heard rustling. Cracking his eyes open, Altaïr saw Malik's shining form crouching down beside him. Though it was still a bit painful to look at Malik, he was pretty with all those colors flickering through him. "What does that mean?" Malik asked.

"Hmm?"

"The colors flickering through me are pretty," Malik said. "What gibberish is that, Novice?"

"How did you know I was thinking that?" Altaïr asked with a frown. Could Malik read minds? How did he get that ability? Could he read Altaïr's mind all the time?

"You said it aloud, Altaïr," Malik said dryly. "What on Earth did you take?" He moved the hookah away, and Altaïr thought, briefly, about protesting, but that also seemed like more effort than he wanted to put out. He was very tired now that the pain was mostly gone.

Things were silent for a minute as Malik dealt with the hookah. "... did Master really tell you that?"

"Hmm?"

Malik sighed. "Did he really say that breaking the Creed wasn't always bad?" Malik asked. "That's what you said a minute ago."

"Oh." Altaïr had said that, hadn't he? "Mm, yes. He used to say it a lot. It's why I always killed targets others couldn't."

"He... he deliberately taught you to break the Creed like that?" Malik asked. He sounded oddly shocked, and Altaïr wasn't sure why.

Altaïr opened his eyes, not entirely sure when he'd closed them. "See? It's confusing. Didn't you get taught things like that?"

"No, Novice. Nobody else was taught that," Malik said. Altaïr frowned. Though, he supposed he had suspected that after the fallout from Solomon's Temple, Altaïr was still somehow caught off guard by that reveal. He had been under the impression for so long that everyone had been taught those sorts of things. He wasn't sure what that meant about him and everything he had been taught now. Was he just supposed to never use those lessons now? What was the point of them then? There... there had to be a _point_. "Altaïr... what else did Al Mualim teach you?"

"What I needed to survive," Altaïr recited.

"What does that mean?" Malik asked.

Altaïr shrugged. He wasn't quite sure how to explain it in any other words. Al Mualim had been insistent that Altaïr would survive only because of the difficult lessons. Altaïr had no reason to doubt that. Well, he _hadn't_ before everything that had gone wrong.

The next thing Altaïr knew he was being hauled along the short corridor that led to the small bedroom that he'd stayed in before. He couldn't recall moving or even attempting to do so. And yet, here he was stumbling along with Malik's one arm wrapped tightly around his waist. Altaïr's own arm was slung over Malik's broad shoulders for support as he tried to walk fully upright and kept failing.

"I don't think you should take whatever this is again, Novice," Malik grunted as he kicked open the door. "You're too heavy to be lugging around like a limp fish."

"Try not to," Altaïr said as he was almost dragged off his feet and tossed onto the cot. He grunted as he impacted but didn't bother to move. Sleep didn't sound like a terrible idea, actually. He hadn't been doing that very well lately, and the drug in his system had tired him out while dealing with the pain in his head. Altaïr tried to thank Malik for getting him onto the bed when he didn't have to, but he wasn't sure how clearly he'd said it what with his face half-buried in the pillow.

"Just sleep, Novice," Malik said. Altaïr all too easily did as he was told.

Altaïr was glad that his dreams were empty and peaceful, although when he woke up, he was groggier than usual and felt worse for taking the medication the night before. The faint ache he tended to feel in his head most of the time felt far more intense after not having felt it for what had to have been several hours. But, the smoke had indeed rendered him all but useless, so Altaïr couldn't indulge in that sort of painless fog again any time soon.

Altaïr had to take several minutes to wake himself up properly, and only then did he notice his weapons and armor had been removed and put to the side. The fact that he'd apparently slept through that was disturbing. It had to have been Malik, but Altaïr had never slept _that_ deeply before. Been that vulnerable. The drugs had hit him far harder than he'd thought they would. Maybe there was something else mixed into what he'd smoked to give such an intense reaction. Altaïr would have to be more careful in the future. Perhaps not go to that doctor again. Altaïr had specifically asked for a light dose, after all.

His hands felt a bit clumsy still, but Altaïr was able to put his gear back on with minimal difficulty. He was getting quite proficient in dressing without his sight.

When Altaïr entered the office, Malik was already up and working. "There is food there on the table, Novice," Malik said with a gesture to a short dark shape that Altaïr took to be a table near Altaïr's favored corner. "Eat something before continuing your investigation."

Altaïr looked at Malik for a moment, trying to gauge his mood. He was never sure when Malik would be upset with him for something that Altaïr didn't understand. The incident the night before seemed very possibly a trigger for that anger. But when Malik didn't spark with red or orange, Altaïr supposed he wasn't angry after all and went to carefully sit down at the table. Luckily, there was enough light streaming through the open doorway that Altaïr was able to see most things and didn't fumble through the meal like he had when he'd first damaged his eyesight.

Malik remained oddly quiet, and though he was much more comfortable for Altaïr to be around when he was that way, Altaïr did still have a job to do. His eyes had gotten plenty of rest and no longer felt like daggers wedged into his sockets. He had several leads he could follow up on and wanted to hurry up. Altaïr knew that he'd lost his efficiency, and now that his skills were getting closer to what they had been, he wanted next to not need so long to successfully kill his target. 

Finishing the investigation still took the entire day, though. Partially because Altaïr was trying to be as thorough as possible and partially because he'd gotten distracted at one point in helping someone through a spot of trouble. Nothing serious, but it had been a slight detour. Altaïr was confident he had a good plan for killing his target even if it wasn't as... subtle as it should be. The problem is that his target had heavy guard all around him except for when he was making a spectacle by executing people. That was really the only opportunity that Altaïr _had_. Hopefully, Malik wouldn't withhold permission because the situation wasn't ideal.

Altaïr gave his report and plan. Malik didn't seem entirely thrilled but didn't protest the idea, which was a relief. "Very well, Novice. You have my permission. Go end his life." Altaïr nodded. He was confident that he could even if it meant he'd have to make a very hasty exit. He'd done so before. There was a long gap of silence between them. "Well?" Malik asked.

"... I need the feather," Altaïr said, somewhat confused about how Malik could forget something like that.

"Then take it," Malik said with a gesture. "It's right there on the counter."

Altaïr looked down quickly, but the counter was covered in shadows, and his damaged eyes couldn't pick out too many shapes. The occasional book and an inkwell there near the edge where some light was cast. Certainly, no shapes that were that of a feather, though. He couldn't see it.

The silence stretched, even more, growing awkward and tense. Altaïr had to guess at where the feather was. Trying to not show discomfort, Altaïr reached out and hoped that he felt the feather on his fingertips. Instead, he felt rough parchment and the polished wooden surface of the counter itself. It was damning. "... how long have you not been able to see?" Malik asked.

"I can see," Altaïr said.

Malik scoffed. "If you could see, then you wouldn't have tried to reach for something that wasn't there."

"... you lied to me," Altaïr realized. There hadn't been a feather there at all on the counter. And if Altaïr had been able to see properly, he'd have known that and not reached for anything.

"I thought there was something off about your eyes. But you hid it so well I couldn't be sure at first. So, I decided to test it," Malik said. "Now tell me. How long?"

Altaïr pulled his hand back from the counter. He didn't think he could have this conversation. He would be cast out of the order for this. It wasn't like Malik and losing his arm. Malik had skills other than killing that was still valuable to the order. His map-making and his social skills. Neither of which Altaïr had. Altaïr couldn't even _read_ anymore. He couldn't see the ink on the paper. Every pigeon that came in he had to pay someone to read the messages aloud, which was a terrifying prospect because that meant an uninitiated had some information they shouldn't. Altaïr had gotten lucky so far, but mostly because he paid a lot for people to keep what they read to themselves. Altaïr had gotten quite good at blindly picking people's pockets to supplement those payoffs. 

"Altaïr," Malik said as he came around the counter. He put his hand to Altaïr's neck and jaw, and Altaïr couldn't help but look at Malik. Malik's glow was so much more intense this close. Like looking directly into the sun. Altaïr even felt his face growing warm as if he was under the sun without his hood. Malik's thumb gently pulled Altaïr's skin down from his eye as if he were trying to examine the damaged orb. "Your eyes aren't focusing on me, but they aren't cloudy or dark... have you seen a doctor?"

Altaïr nodded. "And what did the doctor say?" Malik demanded.

"... they don't know," Altaïr said. Those words felt too difficult to pull out even though they were simple enough.

"What don't they know?" Malik asked.

"... if it'll get better."

Malik was quiet for another moment. Altaïr slowly realized that Malik hadn't removed his hand, and even more oddly, Altaïr didn't find his touch as unpleasant as most people. He wasn't feeling his skin crawl from the contact or trying to curl away from it. Somehow, Malik didn't provoke that reaction, and Altaïr wasn't sure why. "You never did answer how long it's been like this," Malik said. Altaïr didn't know how to say it. 

Malik sighed and dropped his hand. "Sit down, Altaïr."

Altaïr did as he was told. He didn't know of any way to get out of this conversation. Malik had figured him out somehow, and now Altaïr's future as an Assassin was in the Dai's hand. A single hand. That was Altaïr's fault. Malik went outside, and Altaïr heard the grate closing. Altaïr was glad nobody would be coming in on this. It was awkward enough without any Novices wandering in, although Altaïr didn't know of any in the city currently.

After closing the Bureau, Malik came back and sat down near Altaïr. "Tell me. From the beginning. How did you lose your sight?"

"It's not lost," Altaïr said. "Just... changed. I don't know how to explain it."

"Try," Malik prompted.

Altaïr thought about it. Malik was surprisingly patient as Altaïr tried to figure out how to explain what he saw without it seeming like he was crazy. He had expected Malik to lose his temper after a minute, but he just waited. "... I can see the light and dark shapes. It's easier in the sun or a bright room. In a dark room, all alone, or at night, I can't see hardly anything." Malik's shining silhouette nodded. "But people... people are strange. They glow. In bright colors. I can't always look right at them because it's so bright."

"You don't usually look directly at anyone anyway," Malik said. "Not even when we were young."

Altaïr nodded a little in agreement. Staring at people was rude. But so was not looking at people. Yet another set of contradictions that Altaïr couldn't parse out. "Most everyone is just one color. I can tell what they intend from the color. Red is a danger or an enemy. Blue is friendly, allies... safety. There are other colors too, but they aren't as easy to describe. I've always thought of people like that, though. I don't know why, but I have, and it makes it easier for me to think of people like that. But it wasn't... now I can actually _see_ the colors. And nobody knows why. Some... some of the doctors think I'm crazy..." Most hadn't said it outright, but Altaïr had still gotten that impression that they thought the hit to his head had knocked something entirely loose from his brain to be seeing what he was.

"Is that why you said what you did before?" Malik asked. Altaïr was mildly confused. "You said I was pretty with all my colors."

Altaïr felt his cheeks heat a little with embarrassment that he'd apparently said that aloud. No doubt, Malik never wanted to hear something like that from Altaïr of all people, and yet he'd gone and blurted it out like the idiot he was. "... you're the only one that isn't one color at a time. I don't know why. But you're always lots of different ones. Sometimes it's too much to look at, but... it is... sort of pretty," Altaïr murmured the end of the explanation. Too embarrassed to say it at all, much less, to say it loudly. "Everyone else... even if the change color will only be one." Even Al Mualim was only one color at a time, although his color switched sometimes.

"When did this start happening?" Malik asked. "Did you get thrown from your horse or something?"

Altaïr shook his head. He really, really didn't want to bring up Solomon's Temple. Not with Malik. They worked together best when it wasn't mentioned. There were several heartbeats of silence. "Altaïr... if you don't tell me-"

"Robert de Sablé," Altaïr managed to said finally. He knew that interrupting was rude, but he didn't want to hear Malik finish that threat. He didn't know what it would be, but that didn't matter much. 

"... Robert de Sablé?" Malik echoed darkly. "What about him?"

Altaïr swallowed hard. His throat felt so tight and dry. "When... he threw me through that scaffolding and wall... I hit my head hard on the stonework." Malik was silent, and Altaïr steadfastly looked away. "... when I got up and couldn't get through the rubble, I went to report what had happened. I noticed my vision was off then. But it was only seeing double sometimes and having some balance trouble. When Al Mualim stabbed me though... my vision flashed strangely before going dark. When I woke up, it was like it is now..."

Malik remained quiet. Altaïr just waited, not sure what was going through Malik's mind. He was flashing a lot of different colors again but wasn't saying a word. Altaïr couldn't be sure if that was a good or bad thing. "You have been mostly blind for months?" Malik finally asked. Altaïr wasn't sure how to interpret the tone Malik used but nodded in confirmation anyway. Mostly blind didn't seem entirely right, but Altaïr couldn't think of a better word than that either. "And Al Mualim says what about it?"

"Master... has not noticed," Altaïr said, feeling awkward at the admission. Al Mualim was supposed to know him the best of anyone, and still, he'd said nothing about Altaïr's eyes. The problem had gone entirely unnoticed.

"He hasn't _noticed_ his favorite student is blind?" Malik asked, sounding disbelieving.

Altaïr tugged his hood down more, feeling too exposed and vulnerable all of a sudden. "I am not his favorite student," he said. "I was stripped of my ranks and disgraced... he only speaks to me when he gives me my list of targets..." And Altaïr had _tried_ to speak with Al Mualim. But each time, his Master had given some dismissive reply and told Altaïr to return to his training or work. It hurt more than Altaïr wanted to admit. "But... no, I don't think he's noticed. And I haven't mentioned it."

"Why not?"

"My only skill is being a weapon," Altaïr said. He knew that it was a common enough thing to say about him. And judging by the bloom of colors across Malik that Altaïr saw out of the color of his eye, Malik knew it as well. "I am an Assassin, but if I cannot see... what good am I? I cannot make maps like you can. I'm... bad with people, so I can't train others or deal with outsiders like you and the other Bureau leaders must. I would be of no use to the Order if I can't fight. I would be sent away... or killed."

Malik scoffed. "You're being dramatic. Surely there's something else you could do in the Order."

"Such as?" Altaïr asked, genuinely curious as to what Malik thought a 'mostly blind' man with his woeful lack of other skills could do for an Order of Assassins.

"You..." Malik hesitated. "... are decent with animals."

Altaïr glanced over. "... am I?"

"You have always been a good rider," Malik said, a little more confident now. "You would have been able to work with the horses."

They both knew that was scraping the bottom of the barrel, as it were. The stables were often a place Novices were sent as punishments. Running the stables was a moderately respected position, but it often took a lifetime to get to such a place. Altaïr, if he'd been put there, would have been nowhere near that highly ranked. He'd have gotten endless ridicule for working in the stables as a laborer. Especially due to an injury. Probably would have ended up worse than just being stripped of all ranks. Altaïr wouldn't have been able to handle such a thing, he didn't think.

"But," Malik said. "You've proven you can still work even with this problem," he said. "You've adapted well. How many others have you told?"

Altaïr looked over at Malik. "No one," Altaïr said, not sure why Malik would assume anyone else knew. "Nobody has noticed, but you..."

Surprise sparked through Malik's form. "But surely you've told _someone_ else."

"Someone else like who?" Altaïr asked. He was well aware he had no friends. He hadn't since he moved into the castle after the night Abbas' father killed himself. Altaïr wasn't entirely sure why, other than the fact that he'd never been good at making friends, and it was even harder once most of his time was taken up by private lessons with his Master. "I might be the best, but that's never made me popular."

"Well, part of that is because of that attitude you've always had," Malik said. "You're still so arrogant somehow. It's mind-boggling."

Altaïr shrugged. "I can't help being better than most others. And I'm not good at lying. Not even to make other people feel better. I _am_ better at killing people than they are. But, I've never said I'm better at everything. Like I said before, I'm not good at talking with people. I know that. It's why I don't try..."

Malik was silent for a minute. "Alright. Then... let me ask you something else. Why didn't you tell _me_? If anyone can understand what losing a part of yourself is like, it's me."

Altaïr tilted his head. "It isn't comparable." Malik's colors shifted into annoyance, so Altaïr decided to spit out the rest of his thoughts even though he didn't usually bother. "My mistake caused you to lose your arm. And much more than just that. I never had a brother of blood... I can't imagine what it must be like. And I didn't even lose my eyesight fully. I can still see you sitting there. I can't see your eyes or your expressions... but I was never very good with those anyway. I can't come to you with my inconveniences after what I cost you."

There were a few heartbeats of silence. "I... may not be the most... aware when it comes to other people. I don't try to be so ignorant, but I can't ever seem to fix that about myself. But I _do_ know how to take my punishments for when I do something wrong without complaint. I did something wrong, and my sight was damaged. I've adapted..."

"So, what was what I walked into yesterday?" Malik asked.

Altaïr shrugged. "Sometimes, my head hurts. What the doctor gave me was too strong. That's all."

"Sometimes your head hurts," Malik repeated in an oddly flat voice. He was sparking with annoyance in Altaïr's vision, but, yet again, Altaïr wasn't sure why. "And today, does it hurt?"

"It doesn't matter," Altaïr said. "The execution is today. If I don't strike now, who knows when I'll get another chance."

Malik sighed, seemingly frustrated. "You have no idea how to take care of yourself, do you?" he asked.

Altaïr was a bit lost by that statement. "Of course, I do."

"I'm not so sure if you think you can go out and kill a man if you're in so much pain you need those sorts of drugs," Malik said.

"I've done it before," Altaïr said.

Another sigh from Malik. Altaïr wondered if it was just him that made Malik sigh so much... "Of course, you have. I don't know why I would think otherwise." Altaïr didn't know why either. An Assassin couldn't allow a little discomfort to prevent them from doing their jobs. They were trying to stop evil men from doing evil things. What was a headache compared to that? Altaïr even dared to ask Malik where he would have never done so with Al Mualim. Al Mualim had ceased indulging Altaïr's questions.

Malik was thoughtful for a moment. "I... suppose that you have a point. The man must be stopped. But, we should also not risk ourselves if at all possible," he said. There are other Assassins."

"None as skilled as me," Altaïr pointed out.

Malik sparked annoyance like he always did when Altaïr mentioned that. "... you don't like it when I say that," Altaïr said.

"It is arrogant of you to say such things."

"Is truth arrogance?" Altaïr asked. He supposed it must be since every time he said something true, he was called arrogant for it.

"There is a way of speaking the truth without coming across as arrogant, Altaïr," Malik said. "Calling our brothers unskilled-"

"I didn't say that," Altaïr said. He shouldn't interrupt, but he oddly had less fear of doing it with Malik than he did of doing so with Al Mualim. Perhaps because he could see so much in Malik's colors. "I said they are not as skilled as me. Which they aren't. That doesn't mean they are unskilled."

"But that is the implication," Malik insisted. Altaïr blinked. Was it? "You really never thought of that, did you?" Malik asked, his voice flat again. The colors in his silhouette were less annoyed now but a somewhat related color. A drab peach.

Altaïr shook his head. "I say what I mean... I don't imply things."

"Right. Well, perhaps try being a bit less blunt in the future," Malik said. "For now, you should go and kill your target. As much as it annoys me, you're right. He needs to be removed and quickly. Don't get yourself killed, Novice."

"You keep calling me that even though I am not one..."

Malik snorted. "I think if that conversation proved anything, it is that you most definitely _are_ still a Novice, Novice." Altaïr had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Malik got up and went to the counter for a moment. When he returned, he had the feather in his hand. "Here."

Altaïr reached up to take the feather. "I will be quick."

"Don't get yourself injured again. I haven't the time or care to patch you up again. Once was more than enough," Malik said. Altaïr nodded and tucked the feather away, where he could easily find it. Altaïr got up and double-checked his supplies before going to the door. "Altaïr."

The slightly taller Assassin paused and looked back at the shimmering form of Malik. "... I won't tell anyone."

Altaïr tilted his head, not sure why Malik had said that. "I know. I'm a better Assassin, but you're a better man," Altaïr said. "It's always been that way." 

The best Assassin couldn't be a good man, Al Mualim had said. And Altaïr had never seen reason to think that statement untrue. Al Mualim had been an excellent Assassin and now was even Grand Master. But even Al Mualim had admitted to Altaïr that he was not a good man. Usually, after teaching Altaïr something that was particularly unpleasant. Altaïr would cry, and his Master would apologize before telling Altaïr that very truth. Altaïr eventually came to accept it and stopped crying. Tears never did anything but make his eyes hurt, and they did that plenty now on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, and in case anyone is wonder, no I don't see Altair as stupid in any way shape or form. It's just that misunderstanding from bastards like Al Mualim always simplified his lack of social understanding and nuance to mean he was 'stupid'. Hear that enough times and you're going to internalize it


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up trying to predict how long this story is going to be. I didn't actually intend to go this in depth on game events but I just keep fleshing scenes out and suddenly I'm several thousand words longer than I expected. Well, I won't complain if you guys won't.

Majid Addin was not so terribly difficult for Altaïr to kill. Not as bad as Altaïr was expecting at any rate. He was confident that his guards would protect him and had his full attention on his rambling speech to the crowd and his execution victims. Altaïr just waited until Majid looked back at the men he was about to kill before making his move.

True. He did then need to flee rather quickly, but Altaïr had taken the time to familiarize himself with the area and was able to get away despite the flood of guards looking for him. He didn't even get shot with an arrow this time.

The bells were still ringing in the distance, but the majority of the ruckus from the crowds had quieted. Majid had been particularly influential. He ran the entire city, and Altaïr knew that meant they'd been looking for his killer for quite a while. He might have to take refuge in the bureau for more than just a night. Altaïr would like to have some sort of grasp of the situation between him and Malik before then. If there was a situation to grasp, at all. Altaïr wasn't even sure if there was or not.

So, Altaïr didn't immediately return to the bureau. Instead, he found a tall tower that was devoid of a guard and sat down to look out over the city. Altaïr should probably go back and report to Malik of his success and that the innocent men had been saved from premature death, but he needed to organize his thoughts properly before being locked away. He thought best out in the open. Trapped inside small spaces made Altaïr twitchy and his thoughts race.

Malik had surprised him. Though Altaïr had been truthful that Malik telling others had not been something he'd worried about -not even really considered it a possibility, honestly- he _had_ expected more derision from the Dai. Malik had lost far more than Altaïr, and yet Malik had almost seemed... upset that Al Mualim wouldn't have noticed the problem. Perhaps he thought that Altaïr should have been removed from service for it. That would make sense. Although, Malik had said that Altaïr had adjusted and could still do his tasks. That had been a surprising admission from the man that hated him.

An eagle cried as it circled above Altaïr's head, and he looked up. He could make out the familiar dark shape of it against the sky that had once been blue but was now a nearly white grey. Altaïr missed seeing the blue. He'd rather liked the sky as it was. It wasn't as comforting now that he didn't see it properly. 

The assassin turned his eyes back out across the city. He wanted to understand Malik's reaction, but he couldn't quite grasp it. Altaïr had prepared himself for jokes and jabs at his expense if the problem with his eyes ever came out. Malik had every reason to be particularly vicious about it. Altaïr had built up the reaction in his mind and had figured out precisely how he would then act accordingly. Faced with a response he didn't expect, Altaïr had to process it and adjust. 

Altaïr felt he had to repay Malik even more for the oddly mild way he'd handled Altaïr's problem. He had no idea how he would repay Malik, though. From what he had observed, Malik hated Altaïr and wanted nothing to do with him. Perfectly understandable considering the situation. But that didn't remove Altaïr's debt to the man. Altaïr didn't have any good answer for that. He knew how Al Mualim would want his benevolence repaid, but Al Mualim, Altaïr was beginning to realize more and more, was a very different man than Malik Al-Sayf.

Altaïr would have to get to know Malik better if he was going to properly give Malik his due. That was a daunting task, as Altaïr had never been good at that sort of thing. After about another ten minutes of sitting there, Altaïr figured that he wouldn't make any progress in his endeavor if he didn't go to the bureau. The sun was starting to set, and the assassin didn't want to get lost in the dark. With some reluctance, Altaïr got to his feet and stepped to the edge of the perch. He looked up at the sky and the circling eagle one last time before launching himself off the top of the tower.

The wind rushed past him and nearly took his hood off even as he let his body flip so that he landed in the hay properly. Altaïr let his eyes close halfway down and stayed there in the pile of hay for several minutes with them shut. His heart eventually slowed, and then Altaïr got up to return to the bureau, still a bit regretful that he had to do so. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to hide out for too long.

The guards were still on high alert as Altaïr climbed up the side of a building to get to the roof. He didn't want to deal with slipping through crowds of people and being bumped into by strangers. That did mean that the guards on patrol on the rooftops shouted at him, but Altaïr didn't break stride. If he hurried and ducked out of eyesight often enough, they wouldn't have a chance to attack or track him.

Altaïr took a wider circle to get to the bureau than he had to but was glad for it when his muscles throbbed in a pleasantly exhausted way. He'd be able to sleep better if he was tired. 

Altaïr slid across the roof and swung himself down into the bureau. Letting himself hang there for a moment, Altaïr glanced around. He saw no flash of color or shadow that was particularly suspicious, so he dropped silently on the stone slab floor. 

"You took longer than I expected, Novice," Malik said as Altaïr stepped into the office. 

"There are a lot of guards out searching for me," Altaïr said as he pulled the bloodied feather from his pouch to hold it out to Malik. "I thought it best to take a longer route back."

Colors that spoke of Malik's disbelief bloomed, but the Dai didn't say anything about it. Instead, he just took the feather and asked how things had gone. Altaïr dutifully reported everything with the same matter-of-fact tone he always did. There was never any need to embellish things, and Altaïr never understood those in the brotherhood that did. Abbas, in particular, always seemed to inflate the number of foes he had to fight to kill his target. Altaïr had pointed out to him one time that if there was such a problem reaching his mark, then there was obviously a better time to strike. The observation had caused one of their now infamous fights that left Abbas battered and sour tempered for weeks after.

"Adequately performed, I suppose," Malik said as he put the feather away to be sent to Al Mualim later. "At least you didn't come back injured this time."

"Talal had a fondness for archers that Majid did not seem to share," Altaïr said. Talal himself had even carried a bow, although he hadn't had a chance to use it. Besides, it was far easier to outrun people than it was arrows.

Malik hummed and made a casual gesture. "Well, rest, and recover. Let the city become safe again before you leave."

"That may take time," Altaïr said. "Majid was the ruler of this city. His death will affect much." Altaïr had killed such men before, and if he did not escape soon after the deed, he would be trapped within the walls for some time. With how deeply Majid had his hand in every portion of the city, Altaïr did not think he could have possibly reported to Malik and escaped successfully before the city was shuttered. Not even if he hadn't delayed.

"True. But, you will be safe enough here from the guards. Besides, from what news I've received, you've performed quite a few difficult assassinations in a much shorter time than is advisable. You could use the rest. So, do as I say, Novice," Malik said.

Altaïr was mildly annoyed to be ordered around like that. But also was somewhat amused that Malik had apparently been keeping such close an eye out. That he knew of the unusual number of high profile targets Altaïr had been given in quick succession was telling. And, Malik was right. Altaïr had little chance to rest recently with how much he had to do. Going back and forth from various cities, investigating all his targets, planning, then finally assassinating the men he'd been assigned, and then reporting back to Al Mualim. Even Altaïr at his prime and with his sight had not taken quite this many targets consecutively. Three was usually his maximum, and he hadn't even had to investigate nearly as much before. Perhaps that was part of why he had slept so deeply the night he returned to Jerusalem.

Altaïr didn't voice those thoughts and instead went to wash the sweat and grime of the day off in the fountain. His clothes could also use a good scrubbing, but he'd do that later. For the moment, Altaïr would rather eat and then sleep.

Altaïr came back in as Malik was putting something at the small table nearest where Altaïr usually sat. "There's food here. Be grateful and eat it," he said. Altaïr wasn't about to protest that and sat down amid the cushions. Malik put an additional small oil lamp down on the table just as Altaïr was grasping his utensils. Altaïr looked up in confusion as Malik sat down. "You said it's better in the light, and I'd rather you not make a mess of my table," he said entirely casually.

"I'll be careful," Altaïr promised. After a moment of hesitation, he added, "Thank you." Altaïr wasn't sure if Malik wanted thanks, but it seemed the correct thing to do. One should appreciate gestures that made their life easier. That was what Al Mualim had taught him.

Malik waved the comment away. "Bad enough stupid novices come in and spill blood all over my carpets I don't need my tables ruined too." Altaïr thought that might have been a slight against him but wasn't sure, so said nothing. He focused instead on eating. Altaïr wasn't sure why Malik was sitting with him while he ate, but it wasn't bothersome, so he didn't mind. Or even mention it.

Malik's closeness did lead to an opportunity that Altaïr had never had before, however. There was always a distance between him and his peers. Either one he put there or one they put there. Altaïr was not bothered by it, but with his decision to get to know Malik better, it was a hindrance. Judging by the feeling of being watched, Altaïr felt as if Malik was trying to analyze him. Many had tried and failed, but then Altaïr made it a point to not offer any explanation unless asked. Why should he if they couldn't just say what was on their mind? "You can just ask me whatever you're trying to figure out," Altaïr said. "If I don't want to answer, I won't. If I do, I will." The silent studying continued, but Altaïr saw the color of surprise cross Malik's form out of the corner of his eye.

He had almost finished eating when Malik finally spoke. "Does it bother you?" Altaïr paused and glanced over at Malik, glad he could do so now without fear of his injury being noticed. "That Al Mualim hasn't realized what is wrong?"

Altaïr put his spoon down. "... Al Mualim is a busy man... he has a lot of responsibilities. His attention is simply not able to be everywhere at once."

Malik hummed. "All very true but not at all what I asked." 

Altaïr looked off at nothing, not sure how to answer the question. "... he would not be able to do anything about it," he said, not answering the question but offering a truth he hoped would placate Malik. Malik sparked with annoyance, it seemed Altaïr would not be that lucky.

Malik leaned closer. "Altaïr. It's a simple question. Does it bother you that the Master hasn't noticed you are injured?"

"... yes," he whispered as loud as he could through the painful knot in his throat. It hurt that the man he'd depended so much on had paid Altaïr so little attention he hadn't even noticed his injury. Altaïr used to be unable to so much as twist his ankle without Al Mualim noticing it. And... oddly, Altaïr felt vaguely ashamed of his own admission. He shouldn't be bothered. The Master was a busy, important man. He didn't have the time nor the means to personally check on the health of every single one of his assassins. Not even ones that he had practically raised and groomed to be his ideal assassin. Or. Altaïr had thought that had been what he was meant to be. He wasn't sure anymore.

Malik was quiet for a long moment, and Altaïr was glad. It gave him time to ease his tangled throat and tight chest with calming breaths. "So, there is something normal about you... I can't blame you for being upset about it. Everyone knows how much he favored you." Malik sighed and leaned back from the table. "I must admit. Most of us were jealous of all the attention you were getting from Al Mualim. It didn't make sense when half the time you were acting like you were better than everyone else, and the other half you were getting into fights and breaking the rules. And we didn't really understand why you were the one that caught his eye..."

Altaïr contemplated that for a long moment. It was a legitimate thing to wonder, he thought. Altaïr himself had wondered about it before and not come up with a satisfactory answer. He had just been glad for the help and attention at the time. Though Altaïr had always been quite skilled, when they were younger, he and his peers were more evenly matched. There was really only one thing that set him significantly apart from them that Altaïr had been able to place. Aside from how he just didn't understand certain things, which had only made it more difficult to teach him, he knew. Both his parents were dead. That was all that was different. But he _had_ started thinking about it again lately. Quite a lot. "He said I had potential. Do you remember when I killed Talal?"

"Of course, but what does that have to do with anything?"

Altaïr was quiet as he tried to figure out how to verbalize his thoughts. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. "... he said some things that confused me. So, I asked Al Mualim about them when I returned to Masyaf." Malik remained silent as Altaïr stared at nothing for a long moment. "He said that one of the best ways to make a soldier is to take a broken man and build him back up... I... the more I think about it, the more I think that maybe he was talking from experience..."

Malik was a bit surprised to hear that. Altaïr was painfully literal most times and often missed what Malik considered to be very obvious sarcasm or jokes. He over thought metaphors and examples until he broke them apart, and rarely seemed to absorb the message unless it was bluntly stated. But, it must have been some time since Altaïr and Al Mualim had this conversation. Malik was inclined to think that Altaïr had keyed into something Al Mualim had said long after the fact. Due, most likely, to something else that was more recent, and he was now bothered. But that didn't necessarily mean whatever he noticed was unfounded. Altaïr was still sharp-witted and keenly observant. That didn't change just because he didn't always understand what he was registering.

Given that, Malik would have to be cautious about how he responded. He didn't want Altaïr to misunderstand. Normally, Malik didn't care if Altaïr went oblivious to subtleties in conversations or had the wrong take away. It seemed as if -when the man was curious enough- he would ask about what he didn't understand. However, with how long a pause he had taken, Malik assumed this was something that was actually bothering Altaïr deeply. "What makes you think that?"

Altaïr's golden eyes slid off further to the side. "... he said to do that bred loyalty. And... after how Master took me in after my father died... I cannot think of anything I wouldn't do for him..." Altaïr said. Although he had doubts and second thoughts, Al Mualim had always managed to quash them with his kinder words and actions. With what he'd said about Talal, though, those voices of doubt were louder than they had been in years and years.

"You were not a broken man," Malik said. He could see the mental leap that Altaïr had made when Altaïr phrased it like that.

Altaïr was quietly thoughtful. "I was not a whole one either..." Altaïr said after several minutes. "I know what people were saying about me after my Father was killed..."

Malik resisted the urge to cringe, but only just. The brothers and villagers of Masyaf had tried to be understanding of the freshly orphaned Altaïr, but that was difficult to do when he had seemed mostly apathetic to the whole thing one moment and wildly dangerous like a cornered animal the next. He would become explosively violent with seemingly no trigger, or, at the very least, not a consistent trigger. When some of the widows or spinsters tried to connect with him and bring him food, Altaïr had been unresponsive or outright rude. The rumor had quickly spread that Altaïr had gone mad. However, Malik was beginning to think, knowing Altaïr a bit better now than he had as a child, that perhaps they had been pushing for too much too soon with their good intentions. "I do not think anyone truly thought you were insane," Malik said.

"Then why say it?"

"... I don't think they knew any other thing to call it," Malik said. There had been some similarities in Altaïr's more public outbursts to a few of the madmen that ended up on the streets in the cities. The strange behaviors were not nearly as extreme in Altaïr, but those that had seen the madmen had whispered about the shared traits to each other. Those whispers gave leave to others to not bother looking any closer. Why look into the motives or logic in the crazed? 

"But if they truly thought you mad, I would think they'd protest more to Al Mualim continuing your training." Teaching an insane boy to be lethal would have been far too irresponsible. "Most probably thought you were acting out and needed discipline," Malik reasoned. Malik had heard that opinion at the time, too, mostly from people who were glad that the strange, orphaned Altaïr was no longer going to be living near them. The ones that knew him a little bit better, so were slightly less surprised by his behavior and didn't think him any more insane than they already might. Not that they were not still shocked. Altaïr's violence, in particular, had unnerved his neighbors.

Altaïr glanced over at Malik before looking back away. "... I don't think I understand," he said.

Malik wasn't sure what about what he said was hard to understand. "What confuses you about it?"

"Even when I was punished, they did not seem happy," Altaïr said. "Even you."

Malik supposed that was true. The few times he'd seen Altaïr getting punished for something, it had never seemed _enough_. Altaïr had never seemed affected by his disciplines at all on the rare times he got them, and Al Mualim had always seemed too lenient. Malik sighed and scratched the back of his head. "The thing is, Altaïr... you never seemed to care. So, if you didn't care, how effective is the punishment really?"

"Why did you think I didn't care?" Altaïr asked. "Because I didn't cry and beg and carry on like a child?"

"Partially," Malik said. He decided to not point out that the few times Altaïr had been publicly punished, he had been a child. As an adult, the disaster in Solomon's Temple was the only occasion Malik could remember Altaïr getting so much as scolded. "And partially because it never changed what you did."

Altaïr tilted his head like a bird. "Yes, it did. I always corrected what I was told was wrong."

"It didn't seem like you did."

Altaïr frowned and looked off to the side again. "If I didn't change things, I would have been punished again. Master wouldn't tolerate repeated mistakes."

Malik sighed again. It was somewhat frustrating explaining what he felt should be obvious to a grown man, but knowing all that Altaïr was confused by did provide a somewhat unpleasant retroactive sense upon previous behavior. How did one really expect someone else to behave properly if they didn't understand what that even meant? "Unfortunately, Altaïr, people often judge from the outside without all the facts. You should know this. You've seen it often enough here in the cities we work in," he said. Malik knew that Altaïr couldn't be entirely ignorant of that unpleasant little truth.

"Yes. But, I've never understood why people do it," Altaïr said. "One cannot judge without all the information. It is part of why we gather so much of it before we remove an evil man," he said as a matter-of-fact. 

"You're right. I think it's just human nature to think we know more than we do," Malik said. "Even if we try not to... it's not always something we are conscious of doing. I know I am not immune to it, no matter how I might wish I were." Malik tried to keep an open mind, but that was particularly hard to do with people he already didn't like.

Altaïr went silent again. Malik began to gather up the dishes. Malik was halfway across the office with the dishes before the silence was interrupted. "I know most don't believe it of me," Altaïr began, "but I do regret my mistakes. And I do know that I won't be able to make it right. For whatever that is worth to you."

Malik turned. "Is that your way of apologizing, Novice? It's terrible."

"I have never done it before," Altaïr said.

"That, I have no problem believing at all, Novice," Malik said with a scoff. "Now, you were meant to get some rest. I suggest you do so." Altaïr was a little confused as Malik was the one that joined him at the table but figured that wasn't worth mentioning. Plus, resting did sound good. Altaïr's eyes were starting to sting and burn from overuse.

The next day, the guards were still scouring the city. And the day after. Altaïr was stuck inside the bureau on the third day, and he thought he might go utterly insane. He hated being cooped up anywhere. The only plus that Altaïr could find was that Malik was not as unpleasant and surly as he had been before. Altaïr wasn't sure if that meant that they'd reached some sort of understanding -he honestly doubted it- but the tension that had been there on Altaïrr's first visit to Jerusalem had thankfully dissipated significantly.

Altaïr would attempt to be friendly, but it was clear he still wasn't any better at it than he had been as a child. He seemed to only ever aggravate Malik. Accidentally interrupting him while he was working on a map, or saying something that made him get particularly red, or even just having no idea how to start a conversation. So, in three days, Altaïr's goal to know Malik better had gotten essentially nowhere. All he'd learned was a few inconsequential facts about the man, such as how he always woke up at the same time and how he prepared his favorite foods. Nothing helpful in telling Altaïr how to go about repaying Malik for what Altaïr had done and Malik's secrecy about Altaïr's eyes.

The situation was driving Altaïr crazy, and he had nothing to do to alleviate it. Wanting to burn some of his restless energy, Altaïr found ways to exercise his body without leaving the bureau. Another thing Malik was less than happy about. "Novice. You're going to break that," Malik hissed as Altaïr used his grip on the wooden pole to lift his entire body off the ground with a slow and controlled motion. The bar was more decorative than structural but thick enough that Altaïr thought it would be fine. Plus, it kept him out of the sun, where his eyes would hurt faster.

"If it breaks, I will fix it," Altaïr promised as he slowly let his body descend. 

"You'll fix it?" Malik repeated.

"Yes," Altaïr said as he continued his pull-ups.

Malik scoffed aloud. "Do you even know how to do carpentry?"

Altaïr glanced behind him at the shimmering colors that were Malik. "I did not say it would be fixed _well_."

There was a pause, and then Malik let out a noise that almost sounded like a scoff but wasn't. Altaïr looked again and saw a new color -a light pink- flush across Malik's form. Altaïr had seen that color before but rarely directed at him and never in Malik. It was amusement. "Was that a joke, Novice?"

"I do, in fact, have a sense of humor, Malik," Altaïr said as he pulled himself up again. "I know most think I don't. But I assure you, I know what a joke is."

"Will wonders never cease," Malik said. He was still pleasantly rosy in a way that Altaïr found quite attractive. "Back when we were students, we kept trying to make you laugh. Convinced, it couldn't be done."

Altaïr rolled his eyes. "I'm not a block of stone." He had every emotion they did. He just... when he tried to show most of them something seemed to get lost in translation. He couldn't make it come out correctly. Except for anger. That one came across easily for some reason.

"No," Malik said. "You're not. But after two years of just getting stares every time we tried to make you laugh... we were convinced. Stupid kids, you know."

"It is not my fault none of you were funny," Altaïr said. He used his grip to rotate so that he was facing Malik instead of the wall. "Was there something you needed?" Altaïr regretted asking as Malik's pink evaporated from his aura like it was never there.

Malik nodded. "We should speak."

Altaïr lowered himself and then dropped to the ground. "Very well."

Malik gestured to the corner, flashing the gold that meant Altaïr was supposed to follow or take note. Altaïr used his discarded shirt to wipe away some of the sweat that had built along his forehead as he sat down amid the cushions. The two of them lapsed into silence. Altaïr wasn't sure what Malik wanted to talk about, and even if he had known, Altaïr wasn't confident in his ability to start conversations with the man. Malik seemed to lose himself in his own thoughts briefly. 

"What you said before... about how you would do anything for Al Mualim, is that really what you feel?" Malik asked. 

Altaïr took the time to really mull over the question. His feelings and thoughts about his Master were currently all jumbled together and confusing in a way they hadn't been in years. "... it was, but... lately, I'm not sure," Altaïr said quietly. "I have killed six men for him now... and each has implied things that are disturbing. I ask Al Mualim about their words, and he gives me only riddles instead of answers. He used to explain things in ways that I could understand... even if it wasn't immediate or he had to repeat himself. But now... it is like I am not worth the time to explain things to. He says too much information was my downfall before, and yet he says that when I _know_ that he did not tell me important things before. Or, at the very least, he let me believe things that were not true. He does not trust me anymore... I find myself trusting him less and less in response. I know that is horrible. I should trust our Master. But, I find that I cannot when he plays with his words and says things that seem to imply a deeper meaning that he won't explain."

There was a long silence following the admission. That was probably the most Malik had ever heard Altaïr say at one time, and none of it was particularly comforting. Malik rested his one elbow on the table while studying Altaïr's profile. Altaïr's face was nearly blank. Only the tiniest twitches told Malik that Altaïr was actually feeling anything at all. And the words that Altaïr had said was all that let Malik guess that what he was feeling was probably some sort of discomfort or upset. "Everyone doubts some times," Malik said, falling into his role of guiding Dai without truly meaning to do so. It wasn't the first time as bureau leader he'd heard such things, but he certainly hadn't expected them from Altaïr of all people.

"Not me," Altaïr said without missing a beat. "I have never-would never... they called me a traitor, but I am not. I have never deliberately done anything that I thought would hurt the brotherhood. I know that, to you, especially, that must sound ridiculous, but it is true."

Malik kept studying Altaïr's micro-expressions in an effort to read what little information he could. He was surprised to realize how genuinely upset Altaïr seemed to be about the thought of others thinking him a willful traitor. "I know, Altaïr." Golden eyes, slightly wider than usual, flicked over to him quickly. "Don't get me wrong, Novice. You're an idiot with no restraint or common sense... but I didn't think you made your mistakes out of outright malice. Arrogance and stupidity, yes, but that is not the same as intent. You're foolish, and you betrayed us with your actions, but I don't think anyone really thought you wanted such things to happen. That also doesn't mean I forgive you, by the way."

Altaïr was still staring at Malik, with an actual open expression on his face for once. The experience was so unusual it took Malik a minute to realize the expression was one of bewilderment. "What?"

"I... nobody has ever said that to me," Altaïr said. "And, I wouldn't have expected you to be the one to do it. I know you still hate me."

"I don't... _hate_ you," Malik said. Altaïr's face went from awed disbelief to nearly blank save a single raised eyebrow. "Well, not entirely, anyway. I hate you less than I did," he corrected.

Altaïr nodded and looked away. The two of them sat in silence for another few minutes. "I have been trying to think of some way to repay you," Altaïr said quietly. "But I cannot think of anything appropriate. Or that you might want from me."

"That is probably because I want nothing from you," Malik said.

Altaïr cocked his head to the side. "You... I don't understand," he said.

Malik sighed, he supposed he should have expected that. He was beginning to realize Altaïr often needed things explained multiple times or ways to truly grasp them. It was surprising given how smart he _was_ that he seemed to struggle so much with simple concepts. Altaïr was still looking at him like a curious bird might, so Malik knew he'd have to explain. 

"I would have cast you from our brotherhood entirely in my anger. Or had you executed," Malik admitted. "But..." Malik sighed again and ran his one hand through his hair. "But knowing now the things that I do... the blame for what happens doesn't lie solely at your feet, and such punishments wouldn't have been... appropriate." It hurt some to admit that part of Malik did still want Altaïr to be at the least cast out. But another part of him (that sounded annoyingly like Kadar) kept reminding him that Altaïr had been allowed to labor under false beliefs and conclusions for seemingly years. 

That didn't absolve Altaïr his mistakes, but it should be at least taken into consideration. Even though Malik didn't want to admit to any such mitigating circumstances. And, knowing that Altaïr didn't escape the temple unscathed had gone a long way to removing some of the lingering bitterness towards Altaïr. Malik had heard the other assassin's whimpers of pain through the door of the guest room just the other day. It had taken Malik a shameful amount of time to actually place what he was hearing, but once he had, it was unmistakable. Altaïr said nothing about it the few times he had ventured from the room that day, and Malik had reacted with feigned ignorance, but he knew what he'd heard.

Knowing that Altaïr was still suffering his injuries, that he was still working tirelessly to regain the honor and titles stripped of him, and that he was derided constantly when he wasn't even entirely to blame after all left Malik with a bad taste lingering in his mouth. He couldn't then turn around and demand even more from the man. Especially when Malik didn't even really want anything from him. All Malik had ever actually wanted, was for Altaïr to be properly disciplined for _once_. For Altaïr to realize the errors of his actions. Malik just hadn't realized why the other assassin did what he did greatly changed what 'properly' would mean.

Malik almost sighed. It was not at all fulfilling or easy to be fair about something he knew he wasn't impartial about. About something that he didn't even fully _want_ to be fair with. Altaïr was quiet for several minutes. "... I have hurt you more than any other by my actions," Altaïr said. "Except for your brother. But Kadar is... I can't do anything for him. I can do something for you."

"I don't want you to do anything for me," Malik said.

Altaïr tilted his head, his odd golden eyes glittering in the faint light despite the damage they'd received. "... you have black in you," Altaïr said.

Malik blinked, caught off guard and completely unaware of what that meant. "... what?"

"Black," Altaïr said. "Little bits of it. It means you're hiding something. I haven't seen it in you before..."

"I'm not hiding anything," Malik denied.

Altaïr shrugged. "It could be something you're hiding so well even you don't realize it," Altaïr said. "Abbas is often black. And, while I'm sure a lot of it is because he's just not trustworthy... He doesn't do much self-reflection, either."

"Neither do you from what I've seen," Malik said.

"I try not to need to," Altaïr said. He got to his feet. "If you realize what it is... or think of a penance that you would ask of me. Tell me. I will do whatever you request."

"That's a very open-ended promise, Altaïr," Malik pointed out.

Altaïr shrugged again. "I did something horrible to you. Something one act will not wash away. I realize that and am willing to pay what you deem fair."

"And if I were to demand your life?" Malik asked, inexplicably annoyed at the passive acceptance that Altaïr was displaying. It didn't fit at all with the arrogant preconception that Malik had of the man that would never have admitted to being wrong. Couldn't he, for once, be normal?

"Then it would be yours," Altaïr said. As if it were a simple thing.

"How can you say that? Don't you value your own life at all, Novice?" Malik demanded, getting to his feet as well. He especially hated, in situations like this, that Altaïr was just a bit taller.

Altaïr blinked. "Of course I value my life," Altaïr said as if he hadn't just agreed to give it up just on Malik's request. "That is why you can ask for it. If it were worthless... it would not be much of a penance."

"You are an infuriating man," Malik almost hissed.

"Yes, I do appear to be," Altaïr agreed, eyeing Malik carefully. Malik wondered for a moment what exactly his eagle-like eyes were seeing but decided against asking. Last time he asked for clarification, he hadn't liked the information he'd received. Altaïr gave the slightest bit of a nod that Malik assumed was meant as a sign of respect but didn't quite make it there before leaving the room to go to the guest room he'd been staying in for the past few days.

Altaïr was glad for the quiet and dark of his borrowed room. His eyes had started aching from how much he was using them to look at Malik. While the riot of changing colors he saw over the man was still bizarre and Altaïr had no explanation for it, the information had proved invaluable in deciphering the other man's intentions and meanings. Altaïr got much closer to understanding with the colors than he ever had with trying to read facial expressions. For that alone, he thought the pain might be worth it.

Altaïr arranged his weapons just so and then laid down on the cot to rest his eyes for a while. He didn't want to push too far and end up whining and crying into his pillow like he had a few days ago. That had been mortifying and shameful to be reduced to that where he could be discovered. He was just glad that Malik had never come into the room and found him. Altaïr hoped the other man remained oblivious to the reason Altaïr had sought refuge in a dark room for nearly a full day.

He could hear Malik occasionally through the walls of his room, not that surprising as the interior walls of the bureau were much thinner than the exterior ones. Altaïr could almost relax enough to doze off, but he was not currently tired enough to make it over the discomfort of not being in his own space. Honestly, Altaïr was surprised he'd managed as many nights of rest as he had. Normally he would only sleep every few days if he were forced to stay in a bureau.

Altaïr came out to eat but otherwise spent the majority of the rest of the day in his makeshift room listening to Malik's occasional noises, and the few shouts from outside that managed to make it through the stone walls. Altaïr, therefore, heard when Malik got a visitor near the end of the day. He had to open the door to better hear, but Altaïr gathered enough to know it was an informant telling Malik that the guard presence in the city was relaxing slightly. That was a good sign as Altaïr really did need to report back to Al Mualim. He would already have to make up some time on the road due to how long he'd been trapped in Jerusalem. 

Knowing he was leaving the next day, Altaïr waited until he heard Malik go into his room and stay there for a solid hour before getting up and making his way to the fountain. The unfortunate reality of being an Assassin was that Altaïr was meant to travel quickly. That meant very little excess things such as changes of clothes. Altaïr would rather leave with the cleanest clothes possible before spending so much time on the road. 

Altaïr found an oil lamp and, though it took some blind fumbling, was able to light it so that he could at least see something. Setting it carefully on the ledge of the fountain where he hoped it wouldn't fall or get splashed on, Altaïr shed his layers. Even with good light, it would take Altaïr an unfortunate amount of time to properly clean his clothes with his damaged sight, which was why he did it when he was sure Malik was asleep. He could take his time this way and not worry about being walked in on.

Carefully to not upset his main source of light sitting on the edge, Altaïr began scrubbing the places on the robes he knew would be in most need of it. The robe would most likely take all night to dry because of how thick it was in certain places. Altaïr wasn't sure how clean he was getting the garment, so he took the time to be as thorough as possible. 

Next, Altaïr moved onto his pants and shirt. Once they were as clean as he could make them, Altaïr hung them up beside his robe. The pants and shirt were thinner, so should dry quicker, but Altaïr still had plenty of time before they did to clean himself up as well. The night was cooler than the day, but even still Altaïr appreciated the freshwater as it rolled down his back and chest. It was refreshing after having shut himself away in a stuffy room for a good portion of the day.

Altaïr scrubbed his fingers along his scalp before pouring handfuls of water over his bowed head. He couldn't bring himself to dunk his head directly under the water no matter how many times he tried to get over the silly fear of it. He didn't even have a good reason for his fear aside from just the general knowledge of how easy it would be to come up behind someone doing that and drown them.

There was a faint creak of metal, and Altaïr turned immediately. He was already grabbing for a knife when he realized it was only Malik holding his own lamp. "You could have warned me you were out here, Novice," Malik said as Altaïr put his knife down and turned back to the water. Malik was no danger to him, after all.

Altaïr didn't bother pointing out that he had deliberately waited until warning someone wasn't supposed to be necessary. "I'm leaving tomorrow," Altaïr said instead as he quickly moved along with his washing. 

"I thought you might," Malik said. "I take it you were listening when my informant told me they were opening the gates again?"

Altaïr inclined his head as a sort of agreement. "Al Mualim will be expecting me soon." Altaïr scrubbed at his arms before splashing more water across them. He was very aware that Malik hadn't moved away yet. "Was there something else, Malik?"

There were another few heartbeats before Malik responded, "Don't make a mess, Novice."

Altaïr glanced over his shoulder as Malik disappeared from the doorway. He frowned at the mixture of colors in Malik's shape. Altaïr had gotten used to fewer flashes over the last few days, but just then, Malik had been a riot of conflicting shades all over. What was the cause of all of that then? Since Malik had left Altaïr couldn't exactly ask, nor was he certain if he should. Putting it out of his mind since it wasn't something he could currently figure out, Altaïr returned to washing himself while his clothes dried.

The next morning Malik was even more surly than normal, and Altaïr wasn't sure the cause of that either. He left soon after Malik had gotten up both to avoid the odd awkwardness and to hopefully make up time in returning to Masyaf. Perhaps, given some space, whatever was bothering Malik would go away. Or at least lessen.

Altaïr had decided to demand some answers of Al Mualim, though. He simply couldn't shake the apprehension without knowing more. And, despite what Al Mualim said, Altaïr didn't know if he believed that too much information had been his downfall. Faulty information, perhaps. But not too much in general. Al Mualim had seemed annoyed at the demand and flashed red in a way that made Altaïr second guess his own decision. But then his Master had calmed, and the red disappeared into gold.

Al Mualim finally just told Altaïr that he was killing Templars. Perhaps it should have been obvious, but Altaïr was still a bit surprised to hear it. Once Al Mualim explained it, the plot to take over the cities did make some sense. There were still lingering questions, but Altaïr didn't wish to press his luck. Al Mualim showed Altaïr what had caused all of these troubles. The Piece of Eden. The sphere glowed painfully bright gold in Altaïr's eyes.

The glow was too intense, but if Altaïr looked hard enough, he could make out the lines upon its curved surface. His head felt like it was splitting open, and Altaïr pulled his gaze away quickly. He wasn't sure what it was or what it supposedly did, but Al Mualim explained how powerful it was. How dangerous it could be. Then he gives another two names of Templars. Altaïr wondered just how many more Templars there were to kill but didn't bother to ask. He would kill as many as he had to so that this so-called Piece of Eden could not be used to ruinous ends.

The cities that Altaïr returned to were teeming with guards, and information on his new targets was not as easy to come by as he would like. Still, Altaïr was not the best for nothing. When Altaïr came for them, the men continued to give confusing rhetoric that tugged at bits and pieces of information that had not quite sat right in Altaïr's mind. He tried his best to ignore it, but that was very difficult to do. The more of these Templars he killed, the more Altaïr felt as if he were circling something unpleasant.

Altaïr was told to then kill Robert de Sablé.

He didn't want to admit it, but Altaïr couldn't quite help the feeling of apprehension at the prospect of facing the man that had thrown him through a wall and left him partially blind. Not to mention the news that the man was going to Jerusalem was worrying. Altaïr wondered if Malik was aware of that, and if so, how the other Assassin would take such news. Altaïr didn't think particularly well.

Altaïr finally had a chance to spend some time in his own room in Masyaf, which should be refreshing. The familiar environment allowed him to relax more fully. That wasn't to say that he wasn't still a light enough sleeper than Altaïr didn't wake up when he got a visitor late that night. The steps were familiar so, while Altaïr couldn't quite help himself from reflexively grab the short sword he had tucked away, he didn't bother springing up.

"I know you are awake, Altaïr," Al Mualim said as he approached the side of the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and placed a gnarled hand on Altaïr's leg near his knee. "I know when you pretend, boy."

"... It has been a long time since you came to see me," Altaïr said without opening his eyes. He didn't want to risk Al Mualim noticing anything off about them even though he was fairly certain that in the dark, it wasn't very noticeable. Better safe than sorry, in his opinion.

"There has been no need to do so," Al Mualim said. "But you seem troubled and that, in turn, troubles me. Tell me, Altaïr, what has you so discontented?"

Altaïr thought for a moment before cracking open one eye to look at his Master. That wouldn't give him away, he didn't think. Al Mualim was... black. It made Altaïr wary and unsettled. He wondered if the deception was deliberate on his Master's part. "... Robert de Sablé," Altaïr said. The man wasn't actually Altaïr's main concern right that second, but he had been worried about the prospect of facing him all day.

"What about him?"

The black filling Al Mualim's form was oppressive and made it hard for Altaïr to pick him out of the dark of the room, but Altaïr fought down the pounding of his heart into something closer to normal. He wasn't sure how successful he was, but he tried. His hand would not loosen the grip it had on his short sword either. "He easily bested me last time we met," Altaïr said. 

"Hence, this is the perfect chance for you to redeem yourself," Al Mualim said. He gave Altaïr's leg a slight squeeze and then a pat much like he'd done when Altaïr was much smaller. "I thought you would have been happy for such a chance."

"... I am, Master. But, I worry I have not improved enough," Altaïr said.

Al Mualim's hand tightened slightly on Altaïr's leg. "I know you will not fail me twice, Altaïr." A shiver went down Altaïr's spine, but he tried his best to suppress it. He remained as still as possible where he was lying on his bed, it seemed safest. "How quickly you have risen back through the ranks of our order prove it was not your skills that were the problem. Just your judgement."

"Is that why you have taught me things that none of the others were?" Altaïr asked.

"Precisely," Al Mualim said, although his fingers tightened to the point of discomfort on Altaïr's leg. Altaïr resisted the urge to show that his Master was digging too much into his flesh. "What is this sudden question from you, Altaïr? I thought we had reached an understanding about that years ago, or have you forgotten what I told you?"

"I have not forgotten," Altaïr denied. "But... you said that the Creed... that it was fine to break one tenant to preserve another but when I did that you scolded me. Demoted me back to Novice. That public displays to show our work is the best message, and yet I am scolded for being too visible. You tell me to drink poisons to learn their effects, and yet I cannot use them. Why do I learn these things if I have no use for it?"

His Master's grip tightened even more until Altaïr cringed despite himself. He had forgotten how strong the old man still was. Al Mualim's grip loosened then, and he patted Altaïr's knee. "You learn these things because you are special, Altaïr. The others, they haven't the talents you do. You know this. They would hurt themselves if allowed to know what you know. But, you cannot flaunt such freedom and knowledge in front of them. They would not understand. And so I was forced to punish you for it. Do you see?"

Altaïr didn't. "... why did you take me in?"

"I told you, Altaïr. You're special. I tire of repeating myself," Al Mualim said. "Do you remember when you came to me that night? Spattered in a grown man's blood and barefoot, but you hadn't a single scratch and didn't even cry. You were perfectly fine. It showed me your potential."

"... I didn't kill him, Master," Altaïr said. He'd told Al Mualim that many times. Had explained that Abbas' father had slit his own throat, but Al Mualim continued to imply that Altaïr had killed the man for some reason. Altaïr already felt guilty about the entire situation since Altaïr hadn't been able to react and stop the man, and now Abbas believed that his father abandoned him. Al Mualim insisting on believing that Altaïr had somehow killed the man didn't help with that guilt in the least even though Altaïr _knew_ he hadn't actually done it.

Al Mualim patted Altaïr's knee again. "I know," he said. The black in his aura was just as impenetrable as before, and Altaïr didn't like it. "Robert de Sablé is the last Templar. You are perfectly capable of killing him, and then you will have fully restored your honor and rank. You do want that, don't you?"

"Of course, Master," Altaïr said. Al Mualim _had_ to know how much Altaïr wanted that. He had been working so hard to achieve it over the past months.

"Then do as I say, Altaïr."

That was definitely not the first time that Altaïr had heard that particular order. Al Mualim very much hated if Altaïr didn't do what he was told. Disobedience had never been tolerated. "... yes, Master."

Altaïr left for Jerusalem early the next morning. Almost before the sun had finished rising. He had not slept as well in his bed as he thought he would have and was eager to start on what Al Mualim promised was the last target. Even if that target was one that Altaïr was not particularly confident in attempting to kill. A lack of self-surety was unfamiliar and uncomfortable for Altaïr. He would prefer to finish his task quickly and put this entire thing behind him as best he could.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a shorter chapter but it's sort of an interlude chapter
> 
> Oh! There is a bit of dissonance between this chapter and the ending of the last. It will be explained but let's just say Al Mualim's visit went on a bit longer than was shown.

The sun had not yet fully risen over the horizon when Malik heard a thud nearby. Malik's eyes opened, and he stared at the wall of his room that was shared with the courtyard. The door to the bureau office was closed but not locked. Malik rarely took the precaution to secure it since only other Assassins should be able to find the rooftop entrance. Listening closely, Malik didn't hear any other sign of who had dropped down -with very little grace- into the courtyard. That landing had been clumsy enough to be a Novice, but it was earlier than Malik usually saw the freshest of their order. He still didn't hear the door to the office open.

Frowning, Malik pushed himself up from his bed. No bells were ringing, nor were the guards shouting. Grabbing a lantern and lighting it, Malik got up fully to go investigate. He wasn't pleased to be woken so early, but he had better go check that whatever idiot had dropped down so loudly hadn't hurt himself in the process. That would be just Malik's luck to have to tend to a fool Novice with a twisted ankle before breakfast.

When Malik opened the door to step out into the courtyard, he did indeed see the white of an Assassin, but it was not the robes of a Novice. "Are you injured?" Malik asked as he approached. There were no obvious signs of it, but then the Assassin wasn't moving from his spot hunched down low. Judging by the rises and falls of his back, however, the Assassin was breathing much harder than he should be. "Brother, tell me what's the matter."

All he heard in response was a slightly wheezing noise somewhere between a gasp and something even more strained. Now sufficiently worried, Malik knelt down and put the lantern he held on the ground. "Come now, tell me what has you in this state-"

Malik couldn't see much of the Assassin's features what with how his head was bowed, but there was just enough that he caught sight of a familiar glint of honey gold. "Altaïr..." The other man didn't look up and just stayed hunched down where he had apparently landed. Malik looked up at the sky, realizing that Altaïr had to have travelled at least into the city at night. When he couldn't see.

Malik was at a loss. He had never in his life seen Altaïr anything less than composed, but here he was seemingly panicking right there on the floor of Malik's bureau. What on Earth was Malik supposed to do in this situation? Why had Altaïr even come _here_ of all places?! Malik pushed those thoughts to the side for later. "Altaïr. Look at me," Malik said, his hand hovering near the other man but not quite risking actual contact. He knew that Altaïr never appreciated touch, and the man seemed on the verge of something terrible already. Malik didn't want to tip him over into a worse state somehow. 

Slowly, Altaïr lifted his head up. Malik could better see his face and frowned. Altaïr's eyes were blown wide, and his scarred lips were nearly white from how hard he was pressing them together. Sweat was clinging to his brow. Altaïr looked absolutely _terrified_ , which was not something Malik thought he'd ever say about the other man. "Altaïr. What happened?" Malik asked as evenly as he was able.

Altaïr was trembling but opened his mouth. A breathy noise managed to escape but no actual words. Malik clenched his hand to stop himself from touching the other man's shoulder. That wouldn't help even though his every instinct was to reach out to Altaïr to try and help ground him from whatever panic was enveloping him.

Altaïr closed his mouth again and swallowed hard. The motion of his Adam's Apple moving drew Malik's eyes away from Altaïr's face for half a second, and he noticed then the thick, dark ring of bruising around Altaïr's neck. "Altaïr! What has happened?" How on Earth could someone near strangle one of the best -if not the best- fighters that Malik had ever seen?

Still, Altaïr didn't answer. He didn't seem capable of words in the least. Malik bit back the noise of frustration that wouldn't help the situation. He needed to get Altaïr inside, though, and see if he was injured in any other way. Altaïr's eyes were still wide but fixed as much as they could be on Malik. It was somewhat disconcerting, but Malik brushed that off. "Altaïr. Can I touch you?" Malik wasn't sure if Altaïr was too injured to walk on his own, but he would probably need help anyway with how disoriented he seemed to be.

Altaïr seemed to try and take a few breaths -probably an attempt to calm himself down, Malik thought- but they came out more like gasps. After a moment, Altaïr gave a short nod. Malik allowed his hand to finally land on Altaïr's shoulder. Despite being given permission, Altaïr still flinched as if being hit, and Malik nearly pulled his hand back. He didn't, though, not wanting to cause that flinch a second time. "Come on, Altaïr, we need to get you inside."

Malik shifted his hand from Altaïr's shoulder to his bicep to start to help the other man up. Altaïr whined as soon as Malik put the slightest pressure there, and Malik loosened his grip immediately. From the noise, Malik assumed there was some injury there as well. Hopefully, not too bad of one. "Alright. Can you get to your feet on your own?" Malik asked.

There were another few shaky gasps, but then Altaïr gave a stiff nod. Malik reached down to take Altaïr's hand instead of his arm, hoping to help pull Altaïr up without touching another injury. "Alright. Let's get you up then," Malik said as he stood up and gently pulled Altaïr along with him.

Altaïr stumbled some but managed to get his feet under him. Malik helped pull him up. At first, it was a fluid enough motion, but then Altaïr stumbled. Altaïr didn't fall, but Malik was entirely caught off guard when the other man shifted to grasp hold of Malik's robes so as to prevent it. Not only had Altaïr grabbed someone else and was now tucked in far closer than Malik had assumed he'd ever be, but Malik could also feel Altaïr trembling. "Easy then..." Malik said, not sure what else to say in this very strange situation. He patted Altaïr's back awkwardly with his one hand. 

He expected Altaïr to let go and pull away, but he didn't. He just stood there pressed against Malik and seemed to be making a concerted effort to shake himself apart. Malik rubbed Altaïr's trembling back with his one hand to try and calm him, he imagined it might have even worked for a moment. Deciding against mentioning how Altaïr was clinging to him, Malik glanced up at the sky again. The early morning was only just starting to streak with pale pink. "Let's get you inside," he said.

Getting Altaïr inside was simple enough. The other man went without a fight and, though he stumbled a few times, managed to keep upright. He still, oddly, was holding onto Malik far tighter than Malik thought normal. He chalked it up to the odd terrified and disoriented state Altaïr was clearly in.

Malik glanced at the door that leads to the room he put Novices up in during their visits and then at Altaïr. Malik knew that there were several Novices in the city currently. They could stop by at any time. Then they would see Altaïr in this state. Malik shouldn't care, but he found he did. So, Malik turned to his own room and helped Altaïr inside. If Altaïr noticed the different chamber he was in, he didn't make any indication of it.

Malik put Altaïr down on the bed and crouched down in front of him. Altaïr was staring at nothing again and still trembling. Malik put his hand back on Altaïr's shoulder. There was another flinch but not as bad as the first one. "Altaïr. Can you tell me what happened?" Malik asked as he watched the other man's oddly beautiful but no longer focused eyes gaze into the distance. Malik waited a moment, but Altaïr didn't answer. "... alright."

The situation put Malik at a complete loss. He wanted to help calm Altaïr and make sure he wasn't hurt more than what Malik had seen, but how to do both at the same time was escaping him. Malik needed to check Altaïr over, but that was only likely to agitate the other man further. "I'm going to get the lamp, alright?" Malik said. "Just stay here and try to breathe. I won't be long."

Altaïr didn't respond, but Malik wasn't exactly surprised by that. Malik gave Altaïr another moment to react. He didn't, so Malik got up and went to fetch the lantern that had been left out in the courtyard. Malik, on the way back, was struck by an idea and so made a detour into the office and started a pot of tea. He put a few drops of sedative into the brew, just enough to hopefully calm Altaïr down from his panic. He didn't particularly _want_ to drug the other Assassin, but Malik wasn't sure how else to handle things.

The tea seemed to take forever to brew, and Malik found himself straining his ears for any sign that Altaïr was getting worse, but he heard nothing. That didn't mean much, of course. Altaïr was quiet most of the time. Malik crossed his one arm over his chest. He had never seen Altaïr acting like he was currently. Whatever had happened had clearly affected the other man to his core to leave him a trembling wreck. Malik still had no fathom of why Altaïr would come here to Jerusalem when he was in such a state. Malik would have thought Altaïr would be more comfortable going to Masyaf, where he had his own room and had spent most of his life. But no. He was here. Perhaps Jerusalem had just been closer? In his panicked state, Malik couldn't imagine Altaïr wanting to travel very far.

Finally, the tea was made, and Malik carefully took it and a cup into his room. Altaïr hadn't moved, and Malik wished he were more surprised than he was. Malik set the cup down on the side table and then carefully poured a bit of tea out. Putting the pot to the side, Malik glanced at Altaïr to try and judge how the other man was doing. He no longer saw trembling, but his breathing still seemed fast.

"Here," Malik said, holding the cup out. "It's tea with a little sedative in it. It might help calm you down. Just a light dose, I promise," Malik said.

Altaïr's eyes finally moved back to Malik. He stared at Malik for what felt like far too long before reaching out to take the cup. Malik frowned as he saw Altaïr's hand shaking but decided against commenting on it. The tea was drained remarkably quickly, far faster than Malik had expected. Still unhappy, Malik took the cup from Altaïr's shaky grip and put it back on the side table. 

"I need to see how else you might be injured, Altaïr," Malik said as gently as he could manage. Altaïr didn't respond. "... can you take off your robe, Altaïr? I won't touch you, but I need to see." The lack of bloodstains was encouraging, but Malik remembered the reaction to taking Altaïr's arm earlier.

There was another long pause, even longer than the one before Altaïr took the tea. Malik did his best to be patient. Altaïr stayed sitting there for several moments before lifting his hands to start undoing the fastenings of his robes. His movements seemed... odd somehow. Malik wasn't sure what about them was off, but there definitely was _something_ , and he didn't like it. Malik wanted to ask about it but knew he wouldn't get an answer, so he didn't.

As Altaïr pulled his robe off, Malik noticed several things in quick succession. One, Altaïr was oddly not wearing a shirt under his outer layer. Two, Altaïr's body was still as fit and attractive as ever. But most importantly was the third thing he noticed. Three, Altaïr was covered in bruises. His stomach was a mottled array of colors, the ring of bruises around his neck seemed even darker than it had outside, there was a handprint wrapped around Altaïr's bicep where Malik had tried to help him up and also a clear ring around each of Altaïr's wrists. There were other marks as well, scrapes and abrasions, but nothing seemed to be bleeding. "Altaïr... what on Earth..."

Altaïr just sat there, trembling, taking shallow breaths, and staring at nothing. Malik wasn't sure how to get Altaïr to engage and tell him what had happened. With the pure number of bruises that Altaïr had, Malik was inclined to think he'd gotten into a fight with five or six men. But, the ones around his wrists gave Malik pause. Altaïr, like all Assassins, wore leather and metal gauntlets. There should not be any way for him to bruise his wrists like that in a fight.

Not knowing what else to do, Malik carefully lifted his hand to gently touch Altaïr's trembling jaw. He was ready to pull back instantly, but he needed to get Altaïr's attention on him because it didn't seem to be at the moment. Altaïr jumped a little, and his unfocused eyes darted from the distant nowhere he had been staring at to land on Malik instead. "Easy, Altaïr. It's just me," Malik said, trying to maintain a calm and soothing tone of voice. "Just me."

Malik was expecting Altaïr to pull away from his hand, but he didn't. He decided to keep the contact to try and keep Altaïr's attention focused. "I need to ask you some things. Just nod or shake your head, alright?"

There was a pause before Altaïr nodded.

"Good," Malik said. He made a concerted effort to keep his voice light and casual. Altaïr's breathing was finally starting to reach normal levels, and the tension in his body was easing. The sedatives seemed to be starting to work. "Were you ambushed on the road?" Altaïr shook his head. "Did you get into a fight here in the city?" Another shake of his head. "Alright... Altaïr, were you attacked some other way?" 

There was a long hesitation before Altaïr shook his head. Malik wasn't sure if he believed that but held back his reaction for the moment. "Do you know who gave you all these bruises then?" Malik asked. Altaïr nodded to answer that one. "Can you tell me who did it?" There was another hesitation before Altaïr shook his head again.

"You know, but you can't tell me who?" Malik repeated. Altaïr nodded.

Malik was about to question that, but then the implication sunk in. There was really only one or two people Altaïr would protect. And only one that Malik considered likely in this circumstance. He hated that his mind immediately went there, but, as Altaïr had said before, there wasn't much that Altaïr wouldn't do for their Master. Including not naming him for beating Altaïr black and blue. 

Malik tried to think of anyone else it could be, but try as he might, nobody else was there. "... it's him, isn't it?" Malik asked. "Al Mualim. He did this." Altaïr shook his head quickly, but his eyes were wide and panicked again. "Altaïr," Malik said firmly. "It's alright. You can tell me the truth."

Altaïr's eyes were still wide. Malik tried to be comforting with his tone since he wasn't sure how much of his face Altaïr could see with his strange vision problems. "Did Al Mualim give you these bruises, Altaïr?" There was another long hesitation, and then Altaïr gave a shaky nod.

"Alright. Thank you," Malik said. "Now... you look like you could use some rest. Lay down and relax. Let the tea do its job."

Altaïr hesitated again. Malik was reminded of Kadar when he was younger and had a nightmare. He hadn't dared go back to sleep. At least, not alone. He'd demanded Malik stay with him the rest of the night, and only then could Kadar get any rest. "I'll stay near if you want me to?" Malik offered.

Another gap before a nod, but it was there all the same. Malik nodded as well. "Alright. I'll be right here." There was still a long few minutes before Altaïr pulled away so that he could lay down. Malik made himself comfortable sitting against the wall. He would be able to hear if someone arrived but would also be there if Altaïr needed him.

Ever so slowly, Altaïr calmed, and the tension bled out of his body entirely. His breathing slowed, and his face relaxed. It took about two hours, but Altaïr finally fell asleep. Malik studied the other man silently, his one arm resting across his knee as he thought. He had seen Altaïr go silent before. Not often and not with such panic accompanying it, but there had been spans in their childhood where Altaïr just stopped speaking for a while. After his father's death, he'd stopped for about a week before sinking into the odd balance of extremes that had everyone so worried. When he'd moved up to the castle, he'd gone silent for almost a month without seemingly any reason at all. There were a few other times while they were growing up as well.

Now, Malik wondered if perhaps Altaïr went silent as some form of protection for himself. As if, maybe, feeling he couldn't tell anyone what happened had left him shutting all of his speech down. That was pure speculation, of course, Malik had no idea what went through Altaïr's head. But it also wouldn't surprise him.

Malik tried to be pragmatic about Altaïr, he really did. Altaïr was a grown man and an arrogant one at that. He could take care of himself and defend himself. With deadly force. In a multitude of ways. And yet, it didn't _feel_ as if he could protect himself. Not against Al Mualim anyway. The man who Altaïr admitted he would do so much for. The man who had apparently trained Altaïr with dangerous disregard for the Creed. The man who had beaten Altaïr for some reason. Malik couldn't honestly fathom what reason Al Mualim could have, but he hoped that there was _something_ vaguely reasonable. Otherwise...

He hated how much he doubted that there was one.

Altaïr had clearly been traumatized by what happened. So much so Malik was impressed that Altaïr had even made his way to the bureau. Al Mualim almost never left Masyaf anymore, which meant that was where Altaïr had to have been beaten. And yet, he'd travelled to Jerusalem in his current state. Malik wasn't sure if that was an intentional destination on Altaïr's part. In a way, it was incredibly humbling for Altaïr -the proudest, most arrogant man Malik had ever met- to come here to fall apart rather than anywhere else. If it were intentional, of course.

A vague noise escaped Altaïr in his sleep. Malik couldn't make out any words, but at least Altaïr didn't seem to be disturbed. His face was still relaxed, and his lips parted slightly as he slept on. It was odd how much younger Altaïr seemed when he was asleep. Normally it was hard to see since Altaïr slept sitting propped up with his hood down all the time. Not to mention, it really was remarkable how much more approachable he seemed without the constant blankness resting on his face. Well, it was still a very neutral expression, but that was what one expected when looking at someone that was asleep. And this neutrality seemed... softer, somehow.

Malik pulled his gaze away from Altaïr's face to close his eyes and rest his head on the wall he was leaning against. He wasn't sure what to do in this situation. He couldn't just allow someone to beat a subordinate like Altaïr had been. But, it wasn't as if there was someone Malik could complain to. Al Mualim was the one doing it. He wanted to think that this was the first time that anything like this had happened, but Malik had a sinking suspicion that it wasn't.

Little things that Altaïr had said in the past that had never made sense, the way he used to go quiet like he had and the whipping scars on his back were all telling. No, Malik was not naïve enough to think that this was the first time Al Mualim had beaten Altaïr. It was only the first time that Altaïr had come to someone after. Or... actually, maybe it wasn't. Altaïr might have just not been able to properly say what had happened, and nobody had taken the time to understand or try to get the story without words. It was hard to say which option would be worse.

Those suspicions were also a major part of why he didn't really think there was a reasonable explanation for why Al Mualim had beaten Altaïr. Because if this had happened when Altaïr was a child and was still happening... well, that wasn't something that could be excused. One didn't whip a child, and one didn't treat your loyal follower like a punching bag. The question now, however, was what on Earth was Malik going to do about it?


	5. Chapter 5

Altaïr slowly opened his eyes halfway. He wasn't sure where he was or even how he'd gotten there. Last he clearly recalled he was in his bed in Masyaf, but this bed wasn't his. He could tell from the softness of the sheets around him and the distinct scent. Altaïr could smell the linen fabric that held traces of sandalwood, jasmine, and spices like clove. He found himself relaxing into the bedding even more and allowing his eyes to close. Altaïr wasn't sure why he found it so easy to relax. He wasn't in his bed or his own room, and that normally set off so many layers of discomfort that he wouldn't be able to close his eyes. Maybe he was just that tired?

Altaïr laid there for a solid ten minutes before tucking himself down deeper into the pillow under him. The scent was familiar and comforting, and the soft linens around him felt much better than the ones back in his room. Altaïr had never liked his bedding in Masyaf, but he'd grown accustomed to it after so many years. He really should try and parse out how he had gotten from one bed to the other, though.

Racking his still oddly sluggish mind, Altaïr was able to dredge up the memory of being dragged bodily out of his bed at Masyaf by the arm. He had done something to upset Al Mualim, but he couldn't recall what exactly. Something he said? That wasn't a far-fetched assumption. His Master didn't like backtalk at the best of times, and he'd been oddly short-tempered recently. Altaïr supposed that, after he'd been pulled from his bed, he'd come here. Wherever here was.

Still lying there, Altaïr realized he could hear birds chirping off in the distance and the faint noise of a fountain. There was also talking, but Altaïr didn't care enough to listen in on whatever conversation was taking place. It sounded a little too far off and muffled to bother with, anyway. Altaïr opened his eyes again to look at the room he was in. 

Altaïr was positive he'd never been in the chamber before, but it was comfortable. Soft light was streaming in from grates near the top of one wall from, Altaïr assumed, the sun. Though what was coming in from the grates seemed to be the total light and Altaïr found that it left the space in an odd hazy sort of shadow. The room he was in wasn't particularly large, and most of the space was taken up by the bed he was in, but Altaïr thought he could make out a small series of trunks along the wall and something he thought might be a low table in the darkest corner. Nothing particularly identifiable, at least, not for him.

Even though it was already far later than he should be in bed, judging by the temperature and the sun coming through the windows, Altaïr couldn't find the motivation to get up. Comfortable and feeling surprisingly safe for being in a place he didn't recognize, Altaïr closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, Altaïr wasn't sure how long exactly he woke up again to the sound of nearby movement. It only took half a second to identify the one-armed riot of colors. "... Malik."

Malik paused whatever he was doing by the table and turned. "Altaïr. You're awake. You must have been tired; you slept practically all day away," he said before coming closer and crouching down beside the bed. Altaïr blinked and slowly pushed himself up. That much time was definitely unusual for him. Although, that might explain why he still felt groggy. That sometimes happened when he overslept. "How are you feeling?" Malik asked.

"Confused," Altaïr said as he rubbed his eyes to try and wake up more fully. "I'm not sure how I got here..."

"You showed up early this morning," Malik said. "Honestly, I'm not sure how you managed to get here in the state you were in, either." Altaïr was quiet for several minutes as he absorbed that. "You were pretty bruised... does anything seem to hurt more than that?" Malik asked.

Altaïr put a hand to his arm where he'd been grabbed but shook his head. It was then he realized his upper body was completely exposed. He should be dressed decently, but Altaïr wasn't sure where his clothes were. "... where are my things?"

"Over here on the table," Malik said as he got up and went to gather Altaïr's things. "At least, what you brought with you is here on the table. You're missing some throwing knives, your short sword... and your shirt."

"Oh..."

There was a somewhat awkward silence, and then Malik went to one of the chests. A moment later, he brought a shirt over to Altaïr. "Here. This should fit you, I think."

Altaïr took the surprisingly soft fabric in his hands and found what he assumed to be the front. He pulled it on and tugged it down. The shirt didn't have sleeves, but it was far better than nothing, and Malik was right that it fit fairly well. Malik didn't say he put it on backwards either. "Thank you," Altaïr said.

"It is my job to look after Novices such as yourself," Malik said. "But you're welcome."

Altaïr ran his hands down the front of his borrowed shirt a few times, trying to adjust to the different fabric. He didn't like wearing all materials but this one he liked. Even though he didn't mind the different fabric, it wasn't what he normally wore, and that meant he had to get used to it. "Do you remember why you came here, Altaïr?" Malik asked after a moment.

Altaïr paused in his fussing. Did he remember? "... Al Mualim gave me a new target... and..."

"And?"

Altaïr tugged at his shirt and ran his hands along the fabric again. He wasn't sure how to voice the jumble of thoughts in his head. They didn't even make sense to him at the moment, so he didn't know how to explain it to Malik. "I... have a target. And Masyaf is- Al Mualim- I just- I needed to go," he tried to say haltingly.

Malik's colors were swirling in a way that was hard to decipher. "Do you remember you told me that he hit you?" Malik asked quietly.

Altaïr felt himself go very still as his mind raced. He hadn't said that, had he? He had been told that he wasn't supposed to mention training or punishments to anyone. That nobody would understand. "I was confused," Altaïr said.

"Not about that you weren't," Malik said. "You don't have to protect him, you know."

Altaïr picked at the bottom of his borrowed shirt. "Nothing happened."

"Nothing happened," Malik echoed. "And how did you get all those bruises if nothing happened?"

"I... It was training," Altaïr said.

"Training," Malik repeated flatly. "Mm, I see. And what exactly was Al Mualim training you for?" he asked.

Altaïr hesitated as he mentally went through his options. "My target is Robert de Sablé... He wanted to be sure I could manage."

"So, he beat you before sending you to kill someone that tossed you through a wall last time?" Malik asked. "Where is the logic there?"

"I... I do not question Al Mualim's methods," Altaïr said.

Malik's aura colored with annoyance and a more orangey color that Altair wasn't entirely sure how to decipher. "I have _heard you_ questioning his methods, Altaïr. The last time you were here, you did." Altaïr cringed a little despite himself. He had done that. And he regretted doing so. Malik sighed and lifted his one hand to rub across his face. "Alright. Fine. What exactly did this 'training' entail?"

Altaïr hesitated, not sure if he should say. In the past, Al Mualim hadn't wanted Altaïr telling any of the others the specifics of the training. He said that he hadn't wanted others to get jealous of Altaïr's more advanced lessons. Altaïr hadn't really understood the need for secrecy about it, but he'd abided the rule all of his life anyway. "Nothing really worth mentioning," Altaïr said.

There was a long pause, and then Malik straightened. "You shouldn't lie when you're not very good at it," he said. The Dai's voice was fairly mild, but it made Altaïr twitch anyway. He knew he wasn't a good liar, but he wasn't sure what else to do in this situation. His Master had given clear orders that those weren't the sorts of things he was supposed to talk about. "Why would you come here rushing, panicked, and confused if it was just an everyday, 'nothing worth mentioning' training session?" Malik asked. Altaïr wasn't sure how to answer that.

"... I don't really... remember all of what happened," Altaïr said. Lying hadn't worked, which wasn't a huge surprise with how hopeless he was at it. Dodging the question entirely was the only option left to him. It had the added benefit of even being true. The last... however long it had taken him to get to Jerusalem, was very muddled and clouded in his head.

Malik, however, seemed undeterred by that. "Tell me what you do remember," Malik said.

Altaïr was silent for a minute as he organized his thoughts. "After Al Mualim gave me my target... he came to see me in my room. We spoke for a little bit, and then he told me of a way to kill the Templar. I... I said I wouldn't do what Al Mualim said I should. He got upset. Disobedience is not to be tolerated." Altaïr had heard that often enough that he could almost swear he heard Al Mualim saying it right along with him.

"What did he want you to do?" Malik asked.

Altaïr shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Altaïr said. Seeing the colors in Malik's aura, Altaïr sighed slightly. "It was the sort of thing he would tell me to do before," he said. "Said it would make it easier for me to kill de Sablé... I don't know if it would or not, but I didn't like what he suggested, so I said no."

Malik slowly nodded. "Alright. And that's when he beat you?"

Altaïr frowned. Malik kept referring to it that way, and Altaïr didn't like it. 'Beating' sounded... wrong. Training felt less unpleasant. "He pulled me from my bed. Said I couldn't be acting disobediently right before such an important assignment," Altaïr said, rubbing his bruised bicep without being conscious of the motion.

"He was wrong to ask you to do something that was against the Creed again," Malik said. "And he shouldn't have punished you for saying you wouldn't."

"It is not... strictly against the Creed," Altaïr said. "But it is not enjoyable."

Malik's confusion was easy to pick out of his aura, but Altaïr didn't think he could clarify. "I... should go and find out when de Sablé will be arriving..." He still didn't know even why the man would be coming here in the first place or how Al Mualim knew he would. That made Altaïr a bit uncomfortable and tickled something in the back of his head that he couldn't put his finger on.

"Start in the morning," Malik suggested. "My informants can keep an ear out for your target, but the sun is already halfway to the horizon. You fumbling around in the dark won't help the situation. Rest, get some food in you, and you can start early tomorrow better recovered."

"I don't need to recover," Altaïr said.

Malik was quiet for a moment, but Altaïr saw some sparks of annoyance in him. He couldn't understand their cause, but he was aware of them all the same. "Humor me then, Novice."

Altaïr wasn't entirely sure if he should, but Malik was the Dai of the city, and if he wanted the investigation to start tomorrow morning, that was actually perfectly within his authority to order. So, Altaïr nodded slightly. "Good. Now, I'll bring you something to eat," Malik said as he got up.

After Malik left, Altaïr got out of bed and carefully made his way to the table he could see in the corner. Luckily, whatever room he was in didn't seem to be cluttered, and all he stepped on was thick carpet and cool stone. Altaïr reached down to pick up his robes. The garment had apparently been washed while he was asleep, the thick fabric was still somewhat damp. Altaïr would have preferred to clean his clothes himself, but there wasn't much to be done about it now.

Altaïr sat down beside the table and fumbled with his equipment. Just as Malik had said, in his hazy flight from Masyaf, Altaïr hadn't managed to grab everything. He would have to get replacements, at least temporarily. Mentally, Altaïr berated himself for such a foolish error. A punishment should not have been enough for him to forget such vital tools.

_Thirty lashes for such incompetence, Altaïr. How can you think to call yourself an Assassin if you can't even remember to bring your blade?_

A muscle in Altaïr's back twitched at the remembered punishment before he shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the memory. He wondered idly if Al Mualim had noticed he had forgotten weapons and if that meant he would be punished when he returned. Altaïr couldn't be sure.

The door opened, and Altaïr turned enough to make out Malik's now familiar and comforting colors. Malik sat the tray down on the table and reached across the space to light a nearby lantern. The shadows of the corner were instantly pushed away enough that Altaïr could much better see what was going on. Without a word, Malik and Altaïr settled into a quiet meal that was rapidly becoming routine. Altaïr even felt comfortable enough to ask Malik for assistance when he couldn't distinguish what was laid out before him. Malik, thankfully, gave him the answer without bringing attention to it or even acting as if it were unusual.

As they finished eating, Malik put his cup to the side and turned more to face Altaïr. "Altaïr, I must ask you something. I know it will not be a comfortable conversation to have, but I feel it necessary."

"Very well... what is it?" Altaïr asked.

"I need you to tell me what Al Mualim has taught you that goes against the Creed," Malik said. "And how he has punished you in the past that none of us knew about."

Altaïr felt his entire body tense at the subject. Malik was right that it wasn't a comfortable one. "... I was told it was not to be discussed..."

"I understand that," Malik said. He was a maelstrom of angry colors swirling together, and that made Altaïr vaguely nervous. Even the first time they'd seen each other after Solomon's Temple, Malik had not been such a volatile mix of emotions. "But secrecy is often a double-edged sword... it can be used to hide both good and bad deeds alike."

Altaïr looked away from Malik to the dark walls instead. In his head, Al Mualim's voice hissed how Malik would not understand. How he would get upset, and Altaïr would be the cause of it. Things were secret for a reason. Altaïr was well aware that without secrets, their entire order would collapse.

"Altaïr," Malik said. His voice was firm yet not as harsh as Altaïr expected. He glanced over at the one-armed Assassin hesitantly. The swirl of reds and oranges were still very present, but oddly blue was streaked through. Beautiful sky blue that Altaïr couldn't help but relax slightly to see. "The things you have hinted at are disturbing, and nobody, not even Al Mualim, is above the Creed. That is the whole point of it..."

"I didn't mean to hint at anything," Altaïr said.

Malik nodded. "I know. And that's part of what has me worried."

Altaïr wasn't at all sure what he meant by that. Did Malik mean that Altaïr's lapse was proof he wasn't skilled enough for the rank he once had? That he was so close to regaining? That was the only thing that Altaïr could think of. He didn't know what he would do if he lost his place again. He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to handle it the first time. A second would be too much. He'd tried so hard to fix things...

"Altaïr." Malik's voice snapped the other Assassin back to the conversation at hand. Altaïr still felt unsteady and oddly weak in his limbs. There hadn't been any drugs in the food or tea. He would have noticed. And yet, Altaïr felt as if his body were missing his bones and might give out at any second. "It's alright. Truly. But these secrets, I think, may be hurting you."

Altaïr wasn't sure what to say to that. Nobody had ever put forth the idea that keeping a secret might be a source of harm. They were just a natural part of life before this. And one that he had strict orders to maintain. Altaïr had already told Malik far more than he knew Al Mualim would be happy with. And yet, Altaïr _did_ know that half-truths could be dangerous from how they could be misleading. The situation with Abbas came to mind. The half-truth of his father leaving in the dead of night had left him angry and unpleasant -a snarling defensive person that lashed out the moment he thought someone was being even slightly patronizing or pitying. If Altaïr left Malik with half of the story... would something worse happen?

Altaïr wished he was smart enough to know. "... how about you start with the scars on your back?" Malik suggested.

That was both a simple and complicated place to start. Altaïr hadn't been whipped for any one reason. There were several, and some reasons took more explaining than others. Altaïr took his time in organizing his thoughts and trying to figure out how to phrase things so that he didn't imply things he didn't mean. This wasn't a situation where Altaïr wanted to make a misstep because of his own lacking social prowess.

Even after Altaïr was fairly certain he had his words worked out how he wanted them, he couldn't quite bring himself to voice them aloud. It felt like a betrayal of his Master to talk about it, and Altaïr, despite what some said, was not by nature any sort of a traitor.

Malik's hand suddenly caught Altaïr's, and it was only then that he realized that he'd been twisting and then stroking flat the shirt he'd been given to wear over and over again. He hadn't done that in a while, and Altaïr couldn't help but cringe at the realization that he had fallen into that habit that he'd been sure Al Mualim had broken him of. At least, broken him of doing in public. "You keep doing that you might rip it," Malik said. Thankfully he didn't seem annoyed or angry.

"Sorry. I didn't... sometimes I just... do that," Altaïr said awkwardly. 

"It's fine," Malik said. "If you feel you can't tell me what happened... you don't have to, Altaïr. I just think that it might be better if you did. And not just for you, but for the whole order."

Altaïr tried to process that with limited success. How did Al Mualim's lessons for him somehow have any bearing on the entire order? Altaïr knew he was important to the order, being the best Assassin and all, but he didn't think it was quite that serious. Altaïr stroked the shirt he was wearing absently. "He... there were lots of reasons."

"For whipping you?" Malik asked. Altaïr nodded. "Why did he do it the first time?"

Altaïr thought he wouldn't remember, but oddly, there wasn't even the slightest delay. "I didn't eat dinner."

"I'm sorry, what?" Malik's aura sparked all kinds of colors, and his voice was pitched oddly in a way that made Altaïr think he didn't believe what he'd heard. "Because you didn't eat dinner, he whipped you?"

Altaïr hesitated. Though it was true, it didn't really explain things well. Altaïr didn't want to make things sound worse or be misleading. "I... I wasn't eating at all. I wasn't hungry... I don't know why. But after four days... Al Mualim said if I didn't eat dinner again, I would be punished. So... when I didn't, he gave me ten lashes."

Malik rubbed his face with his hand and muttered something that Altaïr didn't catch. "Alright... why else might he take a whip to you?" he asked. His aura was swirling again, but the blue was still intermixed, so Altaïr, while mildly confused, wasn't as anxious as he could be.

"If I forgot my equipment... or did not attend a class," Altaïr supplied. "Nothing serious... but sometimes he hit too hard, and it would cut my skin and scar. That's all."

"That's all he says," Malik grumbled. "Alright. So that explains the whip marks." Altaïr felt some relief at that. Perhaps Malik _did_ understand after all, and this would help fix the situation Altaïr had caused with his own stupidity the night before. "But, I think we still need to discuss your lessons with him."

"But I'm not supposed to," Altaïr said.

"I know. You've said that," Malik said. He paused then and drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. "How about this, did Al Mualim ever give you a lesson that went against the Creed or think it might now?" he asked. "If there is, tell me about that one, and I can tell you if it does or not."

Altaïr processed that. It was very tempting. Trying to figure out various fine intricacies of why he'd been taught the things he had been was difficult. Malik might be able to explain it to him. But... Al Mualim wouldn't like it. Malik reached out and took hold of Altaïr's hand as he twisted his shirt again. Altaïr looked down, surprised at the touch but less bothered by it than he thought he'd be. Altaïr looked back up at Malik and saw the blue peeking through the swirl of more aggressive colors.

Before he realized he'd made the decision, Altaïr started talking. He allowed Malik to pull his hand away from repetitively twisting and stroking his shirt even though the other still was. Somehow it made it easier to talk. Malik, thankfully, only interrupted a few times to ask a simple question or two. While his colors grew redder and sparked like a bonfire, that blue was still there steady and tranquil underneath.

He told Malik about being told to drink cup after cup of wine, trying to determine which one had poisons mixed in. Sometimes not being sure if he got ill due to the wine or poison or waking up in his bed, not sure how he'd gotten there because he'd passed out midway through the lesson. Being tied up in increasingly complex ways and told to get free. How if he didn't, he'd be punished. Altaïr told him about the lessons in the cells of Masyaf, where he'd been forced to stay there for weeks at a time until Al Mualim decided he'd learned how to cope well enough. He even told Malik about the disastrous swimming lessons Al Mualim had tried to give him and how -when Altaïr refused to participate- he'd been forced into the water anyway and afterwards beaten for disobedience.

But there were still some lessons and punishments that Altaïr couldn't bring himself to talk about. Malik seemed to realize this and gave Altaïr an out of the conversation during a particularly long pause. "That's enough for tonight, I think," he said. "It's getting late, and you've already told me a lot more than I was expecting. Thank you."

Altaïr nodded and only then noticed that it indeed was much darker. The only light in the room was the one that Malik had lit for their meal hours ago. The sun had set while Altaïr had been talking more than he probably had in years. Altaïr looked down and realized his hand was still in Malik's. He was bewildered. He'd never been able to maintain contact with anyone for that long. Altaïr felt like he probably should pull his hand back, but didn't and looked back up at Malik.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize things weren't as good for you as I thought they were," Malik said. "It never occurred to me that you'd be treated so harshly under the guise of training."

"You're a good man, Malik. I hold no ill will towards you," Altaïr said.

Malik nodded a bit. "And I think I might have been wrong in how I thought of you. You have a decent side yourself, Altaïr."

Altaïr felt his lip tug on the corner slightly. The darkness of his memories lifting slightly at Malik's words. "Careful, Malik. One might think you're growing soft if you start talking like that."

Malik scoffed. "Don't be insulting when I've just paid you a compliment, Novice."

"Yes, Dai," Altaïr said with the appropriate levels of respect, although he was still amused.

After a moment of quiet, Malik loosened his grip on Altaïr's hand. "I need to go and close the bureau. Can I trust you not to make a mess in here until I return?" he asked.

"Of course."

Malik nodded and got to his feet. Altaïr watched him go with an odd mix of his own emotions that he couldn't quite figure out. He'd never had a discussion like that with anyone before. Not even Al Mualim. Though, really, Malik hadn't said that much. 

Altaïr had watched as the other man's emotions flickered and roiled, and to his amazement, the blue hadn't just stayed, it had grown brighter and woven deeper into Malik's aura. It was bewildering and comforting and made Altaïr want to curl up close as he could get to it -like he'd always wanted to get closer to the sky or stay near his father. But it was coming from Malik, something Altaïr had not fathomed even being possible. That made it more precious than even the sky or his father for the unexpected gift of it. After everything that Altaïr had done, the fact that Malik could have that shade of blue so strongly was... well, Altaïr wasn't sure what word was best, but it was definitely something significant.

When Malik returned, the two of them spoke a bit more, although they avoided heavier topics such as Al Mualim, or Assassinations, or what happened in the Temple. Instead, Malik complained -at length- about stupid Novices and the challenges of map-making with one hand and various policies in the city he disagreed with. This time Altaïr was more or less silent, although he would occasionally offer a few words to keep Malik talking. His voice was nice to listen to when he wasn't berating Altaïr for something. 

After another few hours, they both came to the agreement it was time to go to bed. Altaïr had a lot of work to do the next morning after all, and Malik wanted to check in with several of his informants about something and write letters. That didn't sound particularly interesting to Altaïr, but he supposed that was why he'd never been interested in the position that Malik now held. They both got into Malik's bed, not talking about it or even really thinking about it, and went to sleep.

Altaïr slept better than he had in a very long while so much so that he hadn't noticed when their positions had changed overnight. Malik was pressed tight against the curve of Altaïr's body, his one hand resting on the pillow beside his face. Altaïr's own arms were curled around Malik, tugging him close so that Malik's warm back was flush to Altaïr's chest and his backside tucked into the curve of Altaïr's hips. Their legs were a tangled mess with the sheets, and Altaïr wasn't sure how to disengage without waking Malik. He wasn't even sure how Malik hadn't woken up by this point. It was still a bit early, but Malik was an early riser, Altaïr knew. And how had neither of them woken up during the process of getting in this position in the first place?

Not wanting to get Malik upset with him, Altaïr loosened his grip and ever so slowly started shifting away. It seemed to take ages, but, finally, Altaïr managed to not be pressed quite so flush to Malik's body and shifted to the edge of the bed instead. Altaïr wasn't sure how to handle this situation in the least, so he got up and went to the table where he'd left his things so that he could get fully dressed and outfitted for the day. It would be best, he thought, to avoid bringing up how he'd woken wrapped around Malik like that. Especially since Malik would hopefully not have any way of knowing about it.

As Altaïr was fastening his sword scabbard in place, Malik began to stir. "Mm, up already?" he asked.

"I rested plenty yesterday," Altaïr said as he tightened the straps of his armor.

"I suppose that's true," Malik said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit up fully. "Give me a minute, and I'll make us some breakfast."

Altaïr paused. "You don't need to."

"Shut up, Novice. It's too early for you to start. You're not going running across rooftops and climbing towers without food. Understood?" Malik asked as he got to his feet and reached for his own robes. Altaïr supposed arguing wouldn't get him anywhere and nodded. "Good. You're finally learning to listen." Altaïr thought that was probably one of those comments Malik didn't want a response to and just followed the other man into the office of the bureau.

After a quiet, but peaceful enough breakfast, Altaïr finally went to start his investigation. It didn't take very long for him to start hearing rumors. Apparently, Robert was here for a funeral. Majid Addin's to be exact. That was odd, to say the least, and it wasn't something that Altaïr would have expected, which only made him question more how Al Mualim would have known he was meant to be here. True, they were both Templars, according to Al Mualim, but... that wasn't common knowledge. From the outside, the two men would have no cause to know more than each other's name, much less share common goals and schemes.

The entire situation made Altaïr uneasy, but he continued to gather information to try and divine any useful secrets he could work into his plan. He found a few tidbits here and there but nothing that truly told him what might be working under the surface. 

Altaïr took his time to accommodate his new disabilities and, unlike previously when he was working in Jerusalem, dared to return to the bureau at night. He and Malik spoke a bit more, although not about Al Mualim or what training Altaïr had done. Instead, it was less volatile topics, including some memories that Altaïr had honestly all but forgotten about from before his father died, and he had friends among his peers. After these long conversations about better things, they went to bed, still not bringing up the fact that they both shared Malik's opposed to Altaïr finding a different one. Oddly, Malik seemed to be learning Altaïr's little quirks better and much faster than Al Mualim had. It hadn't taken Malik more than a few hours for him to be able to tell when Altaïr was secretly laughing at him. "Don't laugh at those that outrank you, Novice."

"I'm not laughing." And he wasn't. Not a single chuckle had escaped.

"Not out loud, but you have that look on your face that means you are. Stop it, or I'll remind everyone of that time you fell off a roof into a spice cart," Malik threatened. Altaïr did laugh at that. Out loud. And it had startled both of them. Altaïr couldn't recall the last time he'd laughed aloud in such a way.

Every morning, Altaïr woke up, curled around Malik again, and he had to carefully pull away. Sometimes he wasn't sure if Malik was awake or not, but since the Dai never said anything about the compromising position, Altaïr thought he must not be aware. He couldn't imagine Malik remaining at ease with such a thing. He certainly wouldn't allow Altaïr to sleep beside him again, and Altaïr didn't want that taken from him. He slept surprisingly well beside Malik. Not only was his bed incredibly comfortable, both texture and scent wise, but Malik himself was a comforting presence with his steadily growing blue aura.

After three days of investigating, Altaïr thought he had everything he could, and Robert was to arrive the next day, so he had no more time to delay. He went to Malik and shared what he knew. Malik handed over the feather without any issue, making sure that Altaïr had a good grip on it before letting his fingers fall away.

Altaïr twisted the feather in his fingers for a moment before tucking it into the proper pocket. "Malik... there is something I should say," Altaïr said. He'd been thinking about it for the last few days, and if he didn't say it now, he wasn't sure if he would get another chance.

"Out with it then," Malik said.

Altaïr twisted his sash in his hand and flattened it back down only to repeat the process. "I... should give you a better apology than that first one. I am sorry... about everything I've done. I cost you your arm and Kadar... I was a fool and cost you so much."

"I don't forgive you," Malik said.

Altaïr nodded, not particularly surprised. He hadn't really expected forgiveness, but he'd felt he'd needed to apologize anyway. He flatted his sash again. "I understand."

"No, you don't," Malik said. "I can't accept your apology, Altaïr, because you aren't the same man that went with me into that temple. _You_ have nothing to apologize for. And neither am I the same as I was. I was envious of you, and that made me careless. That is my own fault. Not yours."

Altaïr shifted uneasily and twisted his sash again. "Don't say such things." He was the one at fault for Solomon's Temple. That had been made very clear over the months since. Even Al Mualim thought so.

Malik reached across the counter and caught Altaïr's wrist to stop his constant twisting and smoothing. He pulled Altaïr's hand away and held it so that he wouldn't return to the motion. Altaïr looked up more directly at Malik. "We are one. As we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeats. In this way, we grow closer. We grow stronger."

Altaïr wasn't sure how to respond to that at first. It seemed like a simple concept, and he knew he'd heard it before in the earliest lessons. But, it had never really resonated before. Altaïr was the best, and so he was apart from the others. It had been that way for practically all of his life. "... thank you, Brother."

"Rest for the remainder of the day, Altaïr. So, that you can end Robert and be done with this unpleasant business," Malik said. Altaïr could have sworn he felt Malik's thumb brush against his skin before Malik finally released his hand again. Altaïr nodded and went to collect any last-minute supplies that he might need.

Late that night, lying beside Malik, Altaïr found it hard to get any sort of rest. He could tell by Malik's breathing that the other man hadn't quite fallen asleep yet. Altaïr shifted onto his side in an effort to get more comfortable. He needed to rest. The next day was perhaps the most dangerous target he'd had in a very long while. Being ill-rested was a sure way to die.

"Sleep, Novice," Malik said, sounding most of the way there himself. 

Altaïr shifted again. "... Do you think I can succeed?"

There was a pause that seemed to last hours, and then Malik rolled over to face Altaïr. "Doubt does not suit you, Altaïr. Of course, you can kill Robert. He is merely a man. Well-trained, I'll grant, but a mortal man nonetheless."

"I know that, but..." Altaïr paused and tried to parse out what he wanted to say. "... he defeated me easily last time."

"Last time you were arrogant and rushed in and lost your advantage," Malik pointed out. "I cannot see you being so foolish a second time. You are more than capable, Altaïr."

Altaïr nodded, but he still felt uneasy. He hadn't felt this unsure of himself since he was going on his very first Assassination. Malik lifted his hand and brushed his fingers along Altaïr's cheek, drawing his attention away from his own thoughts. "As I said. This new doubt does not suit you, Altaïr. If you cannot believe in your own skills... how about this? I believe in you. I know what you can do and who you are. Not even losing most of your sight has stopped you. Robert de Sablé will not either."

Altaïr studied the swirling colors of Malik's silhouette. If he strained his eyes hard enough, he could almost imagine he could see Malik's features amid the blue, silver, and faint sparks of gold. But the moment he thought he saw them, they would vanish like a drop of ink in water. "I appreciate your faith in me, Malik. I do not deserve it."

"I will be the one to decide who does and doesn't deserve my faith, thank you," Malik said, sounding faintly annoyed, but there was only the tiniest spark of it in his aura. Altaïr wasn't sure what to say to that, so nodded instead. Malik sighed out 'Novice' with some exasperation, but his aura didn't depict much of it. "Altaïr... you needn't be worried."

Altaïr watched the colors, almost mesmerized by the beauty of them. But he was still trying to make out any features that he could. He thought he might see the line of Malik's nose one moment, then the curve of his mouth or the plane of his cheek. But nothing enough to piece Malik's face together all at once. He'd see the ghost of one feature only for it to fade and another to focus and then slip away. Altaïr was oddly disappointed. He lifted a hand and gently placed the tips of his fingers to Malik's jaw. It helped resolve the line as a solid thing in Altaïr's vision, but he knew the second he moved his hand away, it would disappear again. "I wish I could still see your face..." he said.

"Does touching my face help?" Malik asked.

"Some," Altaïr said as he carefully traced the line of Malik's jaw. He was expecting Malik to tell him to stop at some point, but he didn't. Altaïr presumed that meant it was alright and so continued to slowly trace the strong lines of Malik's profile with his fingers. 

Altaïr didn't mean to pause when his fingers discovered Malik's lips, but he did. Somehow he was caught off guard by it even though he knew perfectly well he'd be running into them sooner or later. Altaïr traced the bow in Malik's upper lip, the smooth curve of his bottom, and the crease where the two met. Lips were a strange thing, Altaïr decided. Why were they shaped like they were? Other species with lips didn't have the same sort of curves.

Altaïr traced Malik's lower lip again, fascinated even though it was a strange thing to notice. Malik's lips were surprisingly soft. "Is there something wrong with my mouth, Altaïr?" Malik asked.

"No..." Altaïr said with a slight head shake. "I just... lips are strange things, aren't they? Why are they shaped like this? Nothing else I've seen has lips like this..."

"Maybe it's because we're also one of the few species that kiss," Malik said. Altaïr paused what he was doing, his fingers still on Malik's bottom lip. The silence slowly lingered, and Altaïr let his eyes drift up to where he thought Malik's might be. He saw a new color in Malik's aura. Pink like amusement but a richer tone closer to a red or purple. Altaïr didn't have a name for it, but, instinctively, it felt important and made his eyes widen. "Have you ever been kissed, Altaïr?"

Altaïr nodded, not sure how to make his voice work properly right then. He was suddenly overly aware of where they both were and what he'd been doing. Altaïr recalled of all the times Al Mualim scolded him for being inappropriate. Surely this fell into that category. 

"Did you like it?" Malik asked.

Not sure why Malik asked that but not wanting to lie, Altaïr shrugged. He'd been kissed a number of times and had been left rather unimpressed about the whole thing. Perhaps it was because he'd never really wanted to be kissed... Altaïr heard from several prostitutes that gossiped near where his hiding spots were that not desiring a client made it harder to pretend to enjoy it. Malik hummed and ran his own thumb across Altaïr's jaw. "Do you want to try again?" 

Altaïr was surprised but found himself nodding instantly. He felt Malik's lips quirk. That new color curled through Malik, and then his hand at Altaïr's jaw gently pulled him closer. Altaïr let his eyes close, and his hand shift away as their lips pressed against each other.

The kiss wasn't like any of the others Altaïr had in the past. Malik's lips weren't slobbery and slimy and unpleasant. His tongue wasn't pushing into Altaïr's mouth and halfway down his throat. No. It was just a gentle press of lip to lip. Altaïr found himself relaxing into the sensation. It was nice and comforting in a way other kisses never had been. Malik's lips were just as warm and soft as they'd been under Altaïr's fingers. He pulled away then, his hand brushing across Altaïr's cheek. "Alright?"

Altaïr nodded, not sure what words were right to use here. "Good. Come back alive, and I'd be inclined to give you another," Malik said.

Altaïr blinked. "Can I have another now?"

Malik chuckled. "Greedy, Novice. Fine. But then we're going to sleep." Malik pressed his mouth to Altaïr's again. It was just as warm and tender as the first and even lingered a little bit longer. Altaïr decided that he much preferred kissing Malik over anyone else he ever had.

The kiss lasted another few seconds before Malik pulled away. "Now let's sleep," Malik said as he rolled onto his customary side. "Goodnight, Altaïr."

"Goodnight, Malik."

Altaïr settled down to try and sleep. He did feel better now that he'd spoken with Malik. And the kisses were surprisingly soothing. Malik reached back and caught Altaïr's forearm without looking back. Malik pulled a little until Altaïr was halfway across the bed. "Just come here. You'll end up around me halfway through the night anyway."

Altaïr was surprised that Malik was both aware of that and apparently not upset with it. But, he wasn't going to look such a gift horse in the mouth, as it were, and shifted to be pressed against Malik's back. He carefully wrapped his arms around Malik and drew the other man back into an embrace. It was awkward, but Malik's warmth and the blue of his aura were comforting, so Altaïr melted into the position surprisingly quickly. "Thank you."

Malik grunted a bit. "Just go to sleep, Novice."

With a smile, Altaïr settled down. It didn't take him much time at all with Malik in his arms to drift off to sleep. Again it was a much deeper and more restful sleep than Altaïr was used to getting.

The next morning, Malik was up before Altaïr for once, and by the time the Eagle came out, breakfast was already on the table, and Malik was discussing something with an informant that Altaïr thought he might recognize from the profile, although it was very hard to tell. Most informants looked terrible the same to Altaïr even before his vision troubles.

Altaïr ate, already knowing that Malik would insist upon it, and then bid the Dai goodbye before going out to kill Robert. Malik bid him good luck, and then Altaïr put all of his focus on the task ahead of him.

Unfortunately, Robert de Sablé was not at the funeral. It had been nothing more than a trick to try and kill Altaïr. The woman that was there in his place was a surprisingly skilled fighter but simply didn't have the strength that Altaïr did and had the disadvantage of fighting in chain mail and a full helmet. 

After defeating the woman and finding out where Robert really was, Altaïr fled back to the bureau. He quickly told Malik what happened and what he intended to do. Go after Robert before he could amass an army of all the Assassin's enemies. Malik seemed somewhat unhappy with the idea but agreed to go to Masyaf to give warning, saying he had meant to return to clear some other things up anyway.

Altaïr wasn't entirely sure what to make of that but told Malik to be careful before hurrying off back out of the office. "Altaïr! Wait a moment."

Altaïr paused and turned as Malik came out. "I believe I promised you something," Malik said. Altaïr was a little surprised when Malik pressed his lips to Altaïr's. It felt different in the light of day but not any less pleasant. Malik only let it linger for a few heartbeats before pulling away. "Come back alive, and maybe you'll get another," Malik said.

"You said that before..." Altaïr said.

Malik shrugged. "And you came back alive. It seemed as if it worked."

It took Altaïr a few moments, but then he smiled. "I will return then, Malik."

"Do that."

Altaïr nodded and turned to climb up the wall with the help of the fountain. It was not terribly far to Arsuf, but he had no idea how big of a head start Robert had on him.

As Altaïr got closer to Arsuf, there were more and more soldiers. Hundreds of them. Seas of red clashing like clouds of blood. There were far more than Masyaf would be able to repel even with its stone walls and fortified position. There were too many, and it would become a siege, and Masyaf, while equipped to withstand such a thing, didn't have many alternate routes to get supplies.

There were so many soldiers of both sides that by the time Altaïr finally managed to get to where Robert was meeting with his leader, he had more than a few bruises, and his muscles were throbbing. Oh, he'd beaten everyone that came upon them, but he had honestly lost count around twenty-five or six as to just how many men he'd cut through.

But then came the far more difficult task of _talking_ to people. Altaïr was sure he hadn't made the best first impression, but he pressed on with his case as best he could. King Richard was not particularly moved by what Altaïr had to say. But, he at least questioned Robert. When he couldn't seem to make a decision, he decided that he would allow Altaïr and Robert to simply fight, and whoever won would be the one God decreed to be righteous. It seemed an odd decision to Altaïr, but he was not about to complain.

But then, of course, Robert took the challenge to mean himself and a handful of his soldiers. Altaïr was mildly annoyed but cut through them to get to Robert, despite the waste of their lives. Either way, Robert was going to end up dead.

And so he did get a blade to the chest despite the men he tried to throw between himself and Altaïr. But his last words. Those were very disturbing. Al Mualim. A Templar. The one in charge of it all. It was hard to believe, and yet those words tugged at other things that Altaïr himself had been wondering about and unsettled over. But... a Templar... 

Could Al Mualim really be that? Could he have betrayed them all?

It seemed impossible.

And yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that the more comfortable Altair gets with Malik the more of his quirks come out including a nervous motor tic I decided to give him. Also, I'm not quite sure how I would define Altair's sexuality here... Not straight up Asexual as he has felt attraction before but mmm, probably Demisexual or Gray or Pan maybe? Basically he's gotta like a person first! Buy the guy some chocolates and flowers! Like a GENTLEMAN! Or in this case... idk spar with him a few dozen times lol.


	6. Chapter 6

Arriving in Masyaf, it did not take Altaïr very long to see that Robert had been telling the truth about Al Mualim. There was something very wrong with the villagers. They were rambling nonsense, and their auras were a sickly bile green color in his vision that made Altaïr hesitant to even touch them. He didn't know what was causing it, but the color was not one he'd ever seen in anyone's aura before then. And then Altaïr tried to pass some of his brothers. They were shining red in his gaze but didn't immediately do anything. They did attack him when he was surrounded, however, and Altaïr was forced to put them down. He tried his best to not kill them, but he was not certain he'd managed to pull back his training enough. Altaïr had only been taught to kill, not maim. He hoped they would survive their injuries even as he hurried toward the fortress.

"Altaïr!"

Altaïr paused and looked up to see Malik with a handful of Assassins that were still thankfully blue and not red. "Malik!" Altaïr had never been more relieved in his life to see anyone. He ran up to the ledge that Malik and his assassins had secured.

"You are safe," Altaïr said. He was glad for it. He had been worried when he arrived and saw how strange things were.

Malik was still a riot of different colors. "I am. You were right about Al Mualim, Altaïr. After you left, I returned to the Temple. I found Robert's journal filled with pages and pages of revelations. What I read there broke my heart, but it was undeniable. Our Master has been using us. All of us. We were never meant to save the Holy Land but deliver it to him. He must be stopped." Why did Altaïr not feel as good about that as he thought he should? He supposed it was because he hadn't wanted to be right in this case.

"Be careful. What he's done to the others he will do to us if given a chance. Stay far from him," Altaïr said. He didn't think he could bear it if he saw the beautiful shimmers of colors in Malik turn that sickly green.

"Then what would you have us do?" Malik asked. "My sword arm is still strong, and I have men that are still my own. It would be a mistake not to use us."

Altaïr thought for a moment, plans coming rapidly to mind and altered to fit the situation. If there was one thing he was sure about, it was his ability to win a fight or plan an assault. True, he usually was doing it by himself and with far more preparation, but he also knew these grounds better than anywhere else in the world. "Distract these thralls then," he said. "Assault the fortress from behind. If you can draw their attention away from me, I might be able to reach Al Mualim."

"I will do as you ask, Dai," Malik said.

Altaïr stiffened at the unfamiliar form of address. Malik's aura didn't seem to be full of amusement to say he was joking, and yet... he had never called Altaïr 'Dai' before. It made something knot up inside of him, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it at all, so he moved on. "... the men we face. Their minds are not their own. If you can avoid killing them..."

"Yes," Malik said with a nod. "Though _he_ has betrayed the tenants of the Creed, it does not mean we must as well. I'll do what I can."

"It's all I ask," Altaïr said. He felt like he should say or do something else, and yet his stupid tongue couldn't come up with the words. So, he settled, as he usually did, for the standard words that had saved him so many times in the past, though they felt inadequate. "... safety and peace, my friend."

"Your presence here will deliver us both," Malik said solemnly, even going so far as to bring his remaining hand up and dipping his head slightly. Not a true bow but far more than Altaïr thought he'd ever receive. Altaïr nodded and started up the hill. "Altaïr!"

Altaïr turned to face Malik again. "Remember. Come back alive, and I might give you another," he called.

A warm feeling curled through Altaïr's gut, and he nodded. "You already owe me one." He had returned to Malik's side safe just a few minutes ago, after all.

"Do I now? Well then, you had better be around to collect," Malik said. With that, Malik and his men hurried down the hill to go deal with several Assassins that were starting to come towards the bottom of the hill. Altaïr watched for just a second before turning back to the fortress.

The gate to the fortress fell after Altaïr went through, and he was trapped. Inside the walls, the vast majority of the village was there just standing and staring. They, too, had the sickly color in their auras, but Altaïr gently pushed past. The only way to free them, he felt, was to defeat his Master.

Altaïr wasn't sure why but he still somehow expected Al Mualim to be more honorable. He kept using the magic of the treasure. He summoned phantoms of the men Altaïr had killed and then duplicated himself. Altaïr almost couldn't manage, but he also couldn't afford to lose. It helped that his eyes could pick out the glow of Al Mualim, and the illusions did not have the same color.

For a third time, Altaïr found himself frozen in place. The real Al Mualim was just in front of him with the treasure in his hand radiating like a sun and his sword drawn. "Do you have any final words?" Al Mualim asked.

"You lied to me," Altaïr said. It hurt so much more than any knife wound ever could. "You called Robert's goal foul when all along it was yours as well. I trusted you..."

Al Mualim's head gave a casual motion. "I've never been very good at sharing," he said as if he were speaking of toys in the play yard.

"You won't succeed," Altaïr said. "Others will find the strength to fight against you." Malik definitely would. Altaïr knew that somewhere deep inside himself and took comfort in it.

Al Mualim turned more directly to Altaïr. "And this is why as long as men have free will, there can be no peace."

"I killed the last man who spoke as such," Altaïr said. It was what he was raised to believe. Freedom was something that all should strive for. The idea was why they picked the targets that they did. Evil men who oppressed others.

"Bold words, _boy_ ," Al Mualim said. Altaïr couldn't help but flinch at the word. He hadn't heard Al Mualim call him that in such a hateful way in a very long time, and he had forgotten how much it hurt. "But just words."

"Then let me go," Altaïr said. "I'll put words into action." Al Mualim laughed loudly. Altaïr had never made him even chuckle before even when he'd tried. And now that he heard that laugh, Altaïr wished he still hadn't. It hurt. "Tell me, _Master_ , why did you not do to me what you did to the other assassins? Why allow me to retain my mind?"

Al Mualim stepped even closer. If Altaïr were free, he'd be able to easily kill him, but his arms still refused to move no matter how he strained. Al Mualim shifted his sword in his grip so that it was hanging off his belt before raising his now free hand to Altaïr's face. Altaïr tried to pull away but couldn't. The feel of the old man's fingers against his cheek had never been pleasant, but now it felt even worse. "Who you are and what you do are twined too tight together," he said. "We have worked so hard for so long to make it so, have we not? All of our lessons. To rob you of your mind would have deprived me of your skills, and those Templars had to die."

Altaïr swallowed hard and strained to pull back, but his muscles refused to cooperate. Al Mualim sighed then and pushed Altaïr's hood off his head to clasp the back of his skull. Altaïr was pulled down until their foreheads were touching. Far too close. Far too intimate. "... the truth is, I tried. In my study. When I showed you the treasure. But you are not like the others. You saw through the illusion."

Even though Altaïr was scrambling mentally and repulsed by the invasion of his personal space, he grasped hold of that last word. "Illusion?"

Al Mualim chuckled a bit. "That's all it's ever done. This Templar treasure. This piece of Eden. This _word of God_ ," he said. Altaïr thought he sounded as if he'd just tasted food that had gone bad. Or smelled something rotten. Al Mualim pulled back then, and Altaïr could breathe again. "Do you understand now? The Red Sea was never parted. Water never turned to wine. It was not the machinations of Eris that spawned the Trojan War, but this! Illusions, all of them!"

"What you plan is no less an illusion! To force men to follow you against their will," Altaïr said even as his mind scrambled desperately to process the new information he was not expecting to have. He needed a moment. Just one. He needed to figure this out. What it meant. His brain refused to work right.

Al Mualim was still talking, and Altaïr responded with little real thought behind it. He just... he had something important in his head. He had to work through it. If he could, he'd be able to figure it all out. He knew he would. Just... a minute longer.

Wait. Wait. An illusion. If it could only cast illusions... then was it holding him at all? That wouldn't make sense.

"I _will_ miss you, Altaïr," Al Mualim said as he put the orb into the back of his robes and readied his sword. "You were my very _best_ student."

Al Mualim moved, but when Altaïr instinctively moved as well, he was half surprised when his muscles cooperated. It _was_ all an illusion. Altaïr put it out of his head to focus on the sword coming towards him again. Now he knew what he was dealing with and could respond properly. Even if the implications were beyond him.

But, even knowing they were illusions, Altaïr wasn't able to simply see through them all. Al Mualim would continually appear and disappear from places, and even though Altaïr knew he wasn't really doing so, the illusion was too good. Altaïr fought through it as best he could. Finally, he managed to sink his hidden blade deep into Al Mualim's chest.

Right above the heart.

Classic and effective.

And perfectly executed.

The method Al Mualim had taught him.

Blood flowed out and made Altaïr's hand uncomfortably wet and sticky. He'd always hated the feeling of blood all over his skin. The treasure rolled away, but Altaïr didn't bother watching where it went. His head had stuttered to a stop again.

"Impossible. The student does not surpass the teacher," Al Mualim said as his blood continued to seep out from under Altaïr's palm.

"I am the best, though," Altaïr pointed out.

Al Mualim grunted and lifted a hand. Altaïr wanted to move back but couldn't seem to muster the ability. Al Mualim's fingers were cold as they brushed over Altaïr's scarred lip. "I remember when you got this... You were so disobedient that day. But that straightened you out. Or at least I thought it had."

"... I cannot be both a perfect Assassin and your obedient weapon," Altaïr said, more for himself than the man bleeding in his arms. He had thought for so, so long that the two were the same, but now he saw it wasn't.

"Fool boy... you were never an Assassin," Al Mualim said, his voice growing thin as his heart labored its last. "You were my broken bitch. All you ever needed... was vicious and loyal. And you were a good one too, until recently... just a little stroke... and you'd come... whimpering back for more..."

Al Mualim went still, and his blood was quickly cooling, but Altaïr was frozen for far too long as the man's last words raced around and around his head. Distantly Altaïr was aware that he should move, but he felt as if he had taken a misstep and was falling down a pit. Slowly, as if he wasn't even fully in control, Altaïr put Al Mualim's body on the ground and went to get the artifact. He would need to do something with it... destroy it? How did one go about such a thing?

As Altaïr went to collect the treasure, suddenly, light began to come from it. He couldn't help but pause and stare, already too overwhelmed by everything to fully process what he was seeing. The light... it was forming some image. A... a globe? He couldn't... it was too much...

Altaïr stood there even after the strange globe had faded. He had no idea how long it had been, but his mind was going in circles. Unable to process anything. What the orb was. What he'd done... Altaïr wasn't sure what to do. He had... he had _killed_ his Master. He knew he had to. He did. And yet... _what had he done?_

A gentle hand grabbed one of his where he was twisting and smoothing his red sash. He was getting blood everywhere, but he couldn't stop. Altaïr barely noticed when he was pulled away to a nearby overhang where it was darker. That helped. Some. Not enough. "Altaïr. Focus on me, Altaïr," a voice that was familiar but that he couldn't place said. "Come on, Novice. I know you can." The hand holding Altaïr's let go and a warm, calloused palm lifted to cradle Altaïr's jaw and cheek. A thumb brushed over Altaïr's cheekbone as he tried to find the ground that was constantly slipping away.

The hand on his palm shifted to gently guide Altaïr's head down. At first, it was too much like what Al Mualim did, but then, with his nose buried in warm, soft robes, he could tell the difference. The smell of linen, sandalwood, jasmine, clove... Malik. Altaïr sagged into him and gave up the fight of trying to function properly. Instead, he allowed himself to simply stand there and gave his brain the time to process. He was vaguely aware of things going on. Malik was talking. Things had to be done. The others had to be told something. Altaïr said and did things, but Malik was the one handling everything because Altaïr was too stuck in his haze to manage.

Altaïr wasn't really aware of how much time had passed or what he did. He knew he went to bed and ate, and there was a fire. And beside him, Malik was somehow managing to keep him going. Prodding and coaxing until Altaïr managed to do what Malik wanted. Whether that be speaking or eating or cleaning the blood from his hands.

Slowly he came back, and Altaïr needed less of Malik's help to handle things. Curled up in bed with Malik in his arms, Altaïr tightened his grip. He wasn't sure whose bed they were in or even how long they had been lying there, but it was peaceful and felt safe. He knew that Malik wasn't asleep. He could tell the other man's breathing pattern wasn't the slower and steadier one of slumber. "... he said I was never an Assassin," Altaïr muttered.

There was a long pause, and then Malik shifted enough to look back at Altaïr. It was a credit to how well Malik now knew him that the one-armed man didn't need any context to the sudden statement, Altaïr thought. "He had forgotten what being an Assassin even was, Altaïr," Malik said. "Do not pay his ramblings any mind."

"How can I not when they are true?" Altaïr asked. "He did not raise me to be an assassin. I can see that now. I don't know what he wanted me to be... he called me a broken bitch..."

Malik stiffened and rolled over completely. "He was wrong about you," he said firmly. "You are not broken, and you are certainly no bitch. You trusted him, and he abused that trust. That does not make you either of those two things."

"Doesn't it?" Altaïr asked. "A trained dog will obey a cruel master just as I did Al Mualim."

"Rashid." Altaïr blinked and tried to focus on Malik's face. "You should not call him Al Mualim any longer, Altaïr. He does not deserve such respect. Especially not from you."

Altaïr wasn't sure how to respond to that and turned his head to rest his cheek on Malik's undamaged shoulder. "You are an Assassin, Altaïr. The best of us," Malik said as he brought his remaining hand up to brush through Altaïr's short hair. It was soothing, and Altaïr found it easier to relax with Malik's repetitive motion. "He was only trying to hurt you with his words."

"No," Altaïr denied. "He wasn't trying to hurt me... he was speaking honestly."

Malik paused for a moment. "How do you know?"

"... there wasn't a speck of black within him," Altaïr muttered. "That... that was how he saw me..."

There was silence again, and Malik resumed running his fingers through Altaïr's hair. "Sometimes, I wish you were not so good. He did not deserve the quick death you gave him."

"We are not meant to seek vengeance. Only justice," Altaïr recited. "Death is the punishment, not added suffering."

Malik sighed. "And he thought he could claim you are not an Assassin," Malik said. "That just proves how wrong he was about you. Which is why, I imagine, we're confirming you as Grand Master tomorrow."

Altaïr pushed himself up to look back down at Malik. There was no black in his aura. He was telling the truth. "Me?"

"Yes, Novice," Malik said. "Remember? They spent three days debating, and they all agreed you were best suited for it."

"But-but I'm not!"

Malik was amused. Altaïr could tell from the colors swirling within him. "Oh, believe me, I agree, Novice. No doubt, you will make a mess of things, as you always do. But the time to protest is gone. Think of all that paperwork you get to do."

"I cannot _read_ , Malik," Altaïr said. His eyes flicked around the room, but it was too dark to tell for sure where they were. At least, until he noticed the view out of the nearby window. The mountain was exactly how he remembered it from Al Mualim's room. They were in the Grand Master's chambers. He should have realized it before.

"Altaïr, calm down," Malik said. He reached out and grabbed Altaïr's hand to stop him from twisting the bedsheets. "I was only teasing you. You will do fine. We can find a workaround for your paperwork. But the others trust you, and that is something that is sorely needed after what Rashid did."

"I... I have... I don't know how to be in charge," Altaïr said. He never had any aspirations for being in command. So long as he was given free rein to do his job as he saw fit, he'd been happy to be commanded. It was comfortable there. He knew what he could and couldn't do.

"I doubt anyone knows how to be in charge at first," Malik said as he tugged lightly on Altaïr's hand. "Lay down and rest." Altaïr did as he was told and curled up into Malik again. "You're worrying over nothing. I will help you as best I can. I was always better at the more scholarly side of our education if I recall correctly."

Altaïr wasn't sure what to say or do. "I... are you sure that you would not rather just... be Grand Master?"

Malik snorted. "The older Brothers were not keen on my promotion to Dai. I doubt they would like me any better as Grand Master. Besides... as the most skilled of us, it only makes sense that you would take over for Rashid now that he is gone."

Altaïr still didn't like it, but if Malik was telling the truth -which his aura said he was- then Altaïr couldn't think of a way out of the situation. "... Thank you, Malik. For saying you will help me. I do not know of any others who would."

"I'm just glad you're yourself again," Malik said. Altaïr was confused, and Malik must have somehow known that. "You went quiet again... it is like you are asleep, and yet you're awake. I was getting worried, and the others were starting to notice."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. After what Rashid put you through and then hearing what he said? If you needed to be quiet and work through it, then I'm glad you did," Malik said. "It is better than trying to pretend like nothing happened like some of us do."

"I still made things difficult..."

Malik snorted. "Hardly something new, Novice. But we made it through, and now things are starting to settle again... there will be growing pains. There always is when a new leader takes over anything. We will weather that as well."

"You are so confident," Altaïr said.

"I have learned never to underestimate you, Altaïr. You always seem to rise to whatever occasion is put in front of you," Malik said. "I am sure this will be no different."

Altaïr felt that warm coil in his stomach again and thought that if he could see his own aura, it would be flushing with a warm pink. "You are too kind, Malik."

"Most likely. But I am also right," Malik said. "Now, get some rest, Altaïr. Tomorrow is going to be trying for you, I think. A lot of people will want to speak with you and be nearer to you than you seem to like."

"... very well," Altaïr said. He wondered how Malik knew that Altaïr didn't generally like people being near him. His concept of what was too close was usually much different than most people. Al Mualim had known, but then he'd also often ignored it. Altaïr had learned to live with the discomfort.

"Goodnight, Altaïr," Malik said.

"... goodnight, Malik. And thank you again."

"If you thank me one more time, I will stab you," Malik threatened.

Altaïr couldn't help but smile. "I doubt you would manage it."

Malik growled some. "Altaïr... sleep."

Altaïr's smile grew as he wrapped his arm around Malik's chest again. "As you wish, Dai."

"Novice," Malik grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we're at the part I _meant_ to be writing in before my mind kept expanding on canon game events...


	7. Chapter 7

The ceremony to acknowledge Altaïr as the new Grandmaster was... uncomfortable. To put it mildly. Altaïr found himself not paying attention to it and letting things happen around him. It was better that way. All the flashes of light from various people's auras and general noise left Altaïr with an aching head. Abbas was burning bright, resentful red the entire time. Altaïr tried to not show the pain from all the stimulation as best he could even though he wanted to curl up in the dark and cry. They wouldn't even let him put his hood up, which was all kinds of unpleasant.

When it finally did end, Altaïr went straight to his old room, where he was sure he wouldn't be interrupted and tried to recover. Luckily nobody bothered him, although he did get scolded by Malik the next day for not telling anyone -specifically Malik himself- where he'd gone. Apparently, the one-armed Dai had been worried, which Altaïr hadn't considered. They ended up having an 'argument' about it, which consisted largely of Malik ranting and Altaïr staring at the wall trying to comprehend. Malik had gotten a little loud about it, but when he noticed Altaïr's reaction, apologized in a much more reasonable tone and gave the new Grandmaster several kisses, including the ones Altaïr quietly reminded him of owing for returning alive twice.

The ranting portion had been overheard by others that happened to be near the closed door, however, and they then started rumors that Malik and Altaïr were at each other's throats. At least, if what Malik told Altaïr a few days later as they were curled up in bed was to be believed. Altaïr himself hadn't noticed any such rumors -nor did he really see what the big deal was. Malik seemed mildly exasperated from the colors in his aura and said he'd take care of it. Altaïr wasn't sure how he would but didn't worry over the situation.

Being Grandmaster was harder and more stressful than Altaïr could imagine or had wanted to discover. Making decisions was terribly difficult, and Altaïr found himself a wreck more often than ever before. There were still dozens upon dozens of targets that needed to be dealt with both among the crusaders and not. Deciding who was the most important to remove first and who was doing _less_ damage to the people was giving Altaïr anxiety like he'd never experienced, and his headaches were growing more frequent. Sometimes he couldn't even get out of bed because they were so overpowering. Malik often covered these days with excuses of Altaïr working in his private study -which nobody but Malik and Altaïr was allowed within because really it was more Malik's study than Altaïr's.

Altaïr really only managed to relax while training or when he was curled up with Malik at night. They still kissed on occasion -usually late at night, but sometimes in the nice quiet of their private study and once up at the top of the highest tower despite it being under the bright sun. Altaïr was dreading Malik's inevitable return to Jerusalem that he knew would be happening sooner or later. The city needed to be overseen, and there wasn't yet any sort of replacement for Malik. But if Malik left, Altaïr had no idea how he'd manage to function. Even just the very simple task of reading the reports he was sent by the various Bureau leaders was something that Altaïr was not capable of.

The solution, oddly enough, was found in the village. When Altaïr was hidden away due to a headache in a quiet corner in some shade, a young woman quite literally stumbled across him. Altaïr was annoyed until he realized that the girl had a bad limp and a pretty blue aura. Asking if she needed help started off a quiet, mostly one-sided conversation about how she had gotten thrown from a horse as a child and now had a permanent limp, and nobody wanted to marry a girl with a limp. Her parents were older and sickly, and she was struggling to find a way to support them. Altaïr asked if she could read -not really having much hope for it, but figuring he'd ask anyway- and she proudly proclaimed she could. So, Altaïr took her back to the fortress.

Malik was, at first, not particularly happy with Altaïr for it, however after talking with the girl -named Naila- he had reluctantly agreed that it was safer to have her help Altaïr than any of the brothers. She had almost nobody to tell and quite a lot to lose if the truth came out. So, Naila began living in the fortress as a personal servant to Altaïr.

Most people -including Malik, at first- just thought that he took her in because he felt bad for her, but it didn't take too terribly long for Naila to earn herself a reputation of being a force to be reckoned with. She would have been wasted as just some random farmer's wife or something like that because Altaïr thought that Naila was more shrewd than most of the assassins. It had only taken her a half a day of helping Altaïr to realize he was partially blind. Naila hadn't _said_ she knew, but how she began putting things closer to Altaïr's hand when he would search for them or flattening bumps in the carpet before Altaïr tripped over them, Altaïr and Malik could both tell she had figured it out.

"You cannot tell anyone about the Grandmaster's condition," Malik said firmly.

Naila crossed her arms. "Of course, I won't," she said. "What do you take me for? A fool? Don't be so overprotective."

"I'm not overprotective," Malik said, his aura sparking with a strange mix of colors that Altaïr interpreted as embarrassed. Naila hummed, but seeing how she again accused him of the same thing a bit later, Altaïr supposed she didn't believe him.

Naila was quick to catch on to the simple code that the assassins used in their messages, and though her writing was less skilled than her reading, it was legible. She also barely seemed to take note when she came into their chambers in the morning to find Altaïr and Malik in bed together. She just said something along the lines of 'it isn't surprising, Master Malik' and then told them breakfast was ready. And so, Malik was able to go back to Jerusalem to run the bureau until a replacement could be found once he was confident that Naila had things in hand.

Not that Altaïr did not miss Malik, something dreadful. Though Naila helped him physically and would keep people away if Altaïr asked her to, she hadn't yet picked up on every one of Altaïr's quirks. And Altaïr definitely did not want to curl up with her at night like he did Malik. He didn't sleep as well without the other assassin, which meant more headaches, but Altaïr was managing. Sometimes he had to indulge in the painkillers again, but he tried not to. He still didn't like what the drugs did to him.

Altaïr suspected Naila of writing to Malik to give him extra information that Altaïr hadn't included in his own letters, but, of course, couldn't prove it without being able to read. It just seemed that when the birds returned from Jerusalem, it would be carrying an extra letter quite frequently. Altaïr would have to deal with that at some point but honestly wasn't particularly worried over it. He trusted Malik and Naila both. Perhaps Malik a bit more, but Altaïr was certain Naila was fine as well. Mostly because she had an intense dislike of Abbas. Altaïr wasn't sure why but it was obvious even to him from several conversations he'd overheard.

When he asked Naila about it, finally, she just said something about Abbas being an idiot and rude. Altaïr supposed that was valid, but it wasn't as if Abbas was the only one. Naila seemed to dislike Abbas more than anyone else. Altaïr couldn't figure it out but trusted Naila enough to know that there _had_ to be a reason.

After nearly six months of being Grandmaster, Altaïr felt like he was going insane. He took an assassination himself. Not because he was the only one who could manage it, but because he _needed_ to do something else rather than listen to Naila reading him reports and telling her what to write to Malik or giving out assignments to others. Altaïr had never been particularly sedentary, and yet as Grandmaster, he was expected to direct others and not act himself. He _had_ to get out and do something himself, or he wasn't sure what he'd do. Plus, Naila claimed he was beginning to drive _her_ insane.

Naila suggested he take a job in Jerusalem so he could also see Malik. It made sense, especially with how much Altaïr missed the other assassin, so he did so.

Almost three months had passed since Altaïr had seen Malik when he dropped down into the Jerusalem Bureau. He felt incredible fondness in his chest when he heard Malik ranting at someone in the office. Apparently, this assassin, also called a novice though Altaïr had no idea if he was one or not, had squandered a chance to kill his target and said target, a merchant who had been stealing things to sell to the crusader forces, had fled the city.

Altaïr would have waited until Malik was done, but his eyes were bothering him again despite the hood, so he wanted to be out of the sun. Malik was sparking with all the colors of annoyance when Altaïr stepped inside. He did pause halfway through his rant, though. "Altaïr. What are you doing here?" he asked. His tone wasn't friendly, but Altaïr knew that the man already had his patience tested.

"G-g-grandmaster!"

Altaïr glanced at the assassin that was getting the sharp side of Malik's tongue this time. Grey with a bit of a blue tinge. Neutral but on the friendlier side. Probably a bit scared. Altaïr was getting very familiar with what the subtle color variations meant, and the more he used his eyes, the more variety he was seeing. At first only a few bright colors showed and they were always seemingly the same -save Malik. But now, only true strangers tended to be drab grey, and even acquaintances would take on a hint of other shades. "Aren't you supposed to be in Masyaf? Running the order?" Malik nearly growled, although Altaïr could see the orange sparks starting to settle.

"I left instructions," Altaïr said. "What is going on here?"

Malik scoffed. "Incompetence. Ikram here decided it was a fantastic idea to 'improvise' instead of sticking to the plan we agreed upon two days ago. He failed, and now his target has fled. Who knows how long it will be before we find him again!"

"He will reappear. They always do," Altaïr said.

"Do not be so dismissive!" Malik snapped. "These sorts of mistakes can become much worse very easily! But then I wouldn't expect a Novice like you to understand that!"

Altaïr had learned not to take those sorts of statements to heart as Malik often said things in the heat of the moment he later apologized for profusely, but he heard the actual novice nearly choke on a gasp. "I am not dismissive, but yelling at the boy won't change anything." Altaïr still wasn't a fan of shouting and loud noises. "We will find him and take care of him. It is a matter of time," he said. "Speaking of. I have a target myself."

There was a pause. "Do you now?" Malik asked. "Ikram. Go and see if you can find any trace of where your target might have fled to. Speak with the informants near the stables. They may have some hint as to the merchant's destination."

The novice seemed surprised by how he stuttered out an agreement. He gave a quick but deep bow and then all but fled the bureau. Altaïr watched him go before turning back to Malik. There was a protracted silence. Malik came around the counter to stop in front of Altaïr. "You haven't been sleeping well," Malik said after a moment.

Altaïr tilted his head. "I can tell from the bags under your eyes," Malik said. "Even if you are trying to hide them under your hood."

"I miss you," Altaïr said, not bothering to point out that he wasn't specifically hiding anything under his hood and just felt more comfortable with it up. Malik knew that already.

Malik sighed. "You're hopeless, Novice."

Altaïr supposed he was meant to take some form of offense at that, but he didn't. "I cannot wait for someone to be able to take this position from you," he said. "You're too far away."

"Don't pout. It doesn't suit you," Malik said.

"I am not pouting," Altaïr said.

Malik's warm and now familiar hand came up to Altaïr's cheek. The Grandmaster couldn't help but let his eyes close and lift his own hand to hold Malik's in place. It was still amazing to him how he could like Malik's touch where he hated most others. Even his father, Umar, had not been as pleasant. "You are pouting." Malik drew Altaïr down and brushed their lips together in a way that Altaïr felt to his very toes. "Come. Ikram is foolish, but he's not the only novice in the city today," Malik said. Altaïr obediently followed as Malik led the way to his bedroom.

After shedding weapons and the heavy robe that he was wearing, Altaïr curled up on the bed, pulling Malik down with him. "I have work to do, Novice," Malik complained although he got in beside Altaïr easily. "I cannot just laze the day away in bed."

"Later."

Malik huffed. "Irresponsible. And to think they put you in charge of the entire order. It is a wonder we haven't collapsed already."

Altaïr did Malik the courtesy of humming as if he were listening but otherwise merely curled up against him and closed his aching eyes. Malik huffed again as he wrapped his arm around the other man. "Spoiled."

And there, Altaïr dosed for several hours before Malik was called away, and Altaïr went out to collect information on his target. For the first time in too long, the pair shared a quiet dinner together and slept in the same bed, and Altaïr felt refreshed thanks to it. His trip to Jerusalem could not be very long by pure virtue of all the responsibilities he still had in Masyaf. He would return better rested and thinking clearer than when he'd left.

The kill was child's play; it was so easy. Altaïr had only had to walk up behind the man in the market and he disappeared again before the bodyguards had even registered why their employer had fallen to the ground. But, there was a faint feeling of nostalgia when Altaïr held the bloodied feather up for Malik to see. "I don't know why you bothered with that… seeing how it goes to you," Malik said.

Altaïr shrugged. "It is what you do to prove a kill." The ritual of it and the routine was not something Altaïr felt comfortable breaking even though he knew perfectly well he didn't have to prove the death to anyone anymore.

Malik shook his head. "Only you, Novice."

"I should not be above the rules, yes?"

Malik's aura showed amusement and the flush of affection that Altaïr, admittedly, was still getting used to seeing. "Finally, you show you have some wisdom in your skull, Grandmaster," he said.

"It was put there by you," Altaïr said as he tucked the feather away in his belt again.

Altaïr stayed in the bureau and just listened to Malik as he worked and occasionally scolded a novice that came in with their problems. It was nostalgic and oddly relaxing. The novices took notice of Altaïr sitting there against the wall. He could tell by the little noises they made and the sudden respectful tone that filled their voices even though none dared to speak to him. To be honest, the reverence made Altaïr extremely uncomfortable, so he didn't react to it at all. Better to avoid things he didn't know how to address. Besides, Malik seemed to be able to handle the situation well enough. The one-armed assassin would snap and growl at the younger men until they behaved nearer to normal.

"Are you going to be staying the night, Altaïr?" Malik asked after some time.

"Yes," Altaïr said. "I will leave in the morning."

Really, he could have left Jerusalem hours ago, but he really didn't _want_ to do so. Going back to his responsibilities felt chaffing after the relative relief of running around the city roofs and doing as he pleased. Malik grumbled, but Altaïr didn't take it to heart since he couldn't see any sparks of annoyance or anger in his aura. He would definitely see some of those fiery colors if Malik were truly upset with him.

Altaïr and Malik ate in the common area of the bureau that night even though some novices were also there. Altaïr remained mostly quiet and with his hood pulled low, and after nearly ten minutes of tense formality, the novices loosened up and seemed to forget Altaïr was even there. It reminded Altaïr of what felt like an entire lifetime past when Altaïr could sit in the barracks of Masyaf with other assassins, and it was not notable or disruptive at all. He hadn't managed that since he was a teenager.

After dinner, Altaïr and Malik stayed up a bit later, drinking and talking before retiring to bed. They shared many wine-tinged kisses in the dark of their room. They fell asleep locked together by their own entwined limbs.

Altaïr wasn't quite sure what woke him sometime later, but he assumed it was the faint, muffled noises. He held still and immediately noticed that Malik was no longer beside him. Altaïr opened his eyes just enough to scan the room. In the dark, Malik's aura shined even more like a star. He was bent awkwardly with his head pressed into what Altaïr thought might be a pillow. There was an odd pink-purple color filling his aura that Altaïr had spotted specks of before but had never identified.

He should probably go to sleep again, as nothing was dangerous, but instead, Altaïr kept watching what Malik was doing. It was hard to tell, and Altaïr had never seen or heard the other man doing something like it before. So, it was embarrassing how long it took Altaïr to realize what the repetitive motion of his arm and hand meant. Altaïr really should look away, but he found he couldn't. Malik's body was a glowing sensuous line through the dark filled with so many intense colors that flowed like liquid through him as he moved.

Malik's noises were oddly entrancing as well despite how muffled they were. The little moans and huffs as he pleasured himself. Altaïr swore that Malik was saying something, but it was too garbled even for his keen ears to pick out. Instead, Altaïr focused on the few glimpses of Malik's muscles that he caught sight of as his body flexed. It was beautiful. He was gorgeous in a way Altaïr had known but never really internalized before.

Malik shifted, and Altaïr was treated with a better view of what the other man was doing with his hand. Altaïr felt his mouth and throat go dry as he could _see_ Malik's strong fingers around his own manhood. The purple was dark and flushed with a redder tone that stood out between Malik's pinker fingers. He had _never_ been able to pick out so much detail before. Altaïr's eyes widened and wouldn't be torn away.

Altaïr knew he shouldn't be staring. He should respect his friend's privacy, but he couldn't. Malik's face was still pressed into the pillow as his hips rocked, showing the strength in his legs and backside. His hand was moving over himself an Altaïr suddenly wondered what it would feel like to do that for Malik. Only having one hand had to hinder one slightly. Certainly, Malik wouldn't have to be face down in a pillow if he had two hands. Not that it was an unattractive position.

Altaïr bit his lip as he watched Malik pleasure himself. His own body was stirring as he watched. Altaïr rarely felt desire, but seeing what a beautiful image in the dark Malik made -well, Altaïr was still human, after all.

Malik let out another muffled groan, and Altaïr wondered how close the other man was. The purple flushing his body was turning darker as red -in a shade different from anger- seeped into it. Then again… red didn't necessarily mean danger. It could mean passion just as well. And mixed with so much purple –desire, his brain supplied- Altaïr knew this wasn't anger that Malik was feeling. Rather, it was lust and passion. Altaïr swallowed through his dry throat and shifted slowly. He wondered what Malik was thinking about. What had caused him to feel that _much_. That _intensely_.

Between his thighs, Altaïr could feel his own length hard and hot, but he ignored it for the moment. He should probably do something. Say something. It wasn't right to not let Malik know that he no longer had the cover of Altaïr's slumber. That his pleasure was no longer private.

Altaïr was loath to interrupt, though. He wanted to hear all those little noises and see Malik's hips rock into his own hand. It was far too lovely a sight. But it wasn't something he should do, and Malik deserved better. So, regretfully, Altaïr pushed himself up. "… Malik."

Malik's reaction was instant. He let out some strange noise and rolled. Something dark was pulled up to cover him and Altaïr assumed it was a blanket or a robe or something. Not that it really helped block how purple Malik was. It did obscure all the detail, though, which was a pity. "Altaïr! I thought you were sleeping!"

"I was. I woke up," Altaïr said.

There was a long span of silence as Malik's purple aura flushed the colors of embarrassment. "Just-just how long have you been awake?" Malik demanded.

"Long enough to know what you were doing," Altaïr said honestly. "Do you want me to leave?" It seemed the respectful thing to do, and Altaïr respected Malik more than anyone.

Malik cleared his throat and pulled a robe on. "No, it's fine. Listen, Altaïr I just-"

"You don't need to explain," Altaïr said. Malik seemed too embarrassed and flustered, and Altaïr didn't want the other man making his own upset worse. "I have seen men touching themselves before. I did spend time with the other boys in the baths before my father died, remember?" Plenty of boys and older men had found hidden corners to enjoy themselves in, although Altaïr had seen plenty of it in his adult life as well. He had a feeling that would surprise Malik, but that wasn't Altaïr's goal, so he didn't mention it.

"Right…" Malik cleared his throat and fumbled with the pillow he'd been using to stifle his pleasure. "I… apologize for waking you up," he said. His tone was almost comically formal considering the situation, and Altaïr shifted to the edge of the bed to stand up.

"You don't need to apologize either, Malik," Altaïr said. "I'm sorry for having interrupted you. You looked like you were enjoying whatever you were thinking about."

Malik sputtered, and his aura flushed with more embarrassment. "Altaïr!"

"What?" Altaïr asked as he crossed the room to kneel down in front of the still embarrassed and probably only partially dressed Malik. "You know… you turn stunning colors when you pleasure yourself."

"Altaïr! You shouldn't have seen any of that!" Malik protested.

"I'm sorry, but it's true," Altaïr said, not really that sorry, but knowing Malik would appreciate the words. Well, he hoped Malik would appreciate them. He usually did. "What were you thinking about?"

Malik whipped around to face Altaïr so fast the robe slipped a bit. "That's not something you ask people!"

"Was it a woman?"

"Altaïr!" Malik had to force his voice to something less like a screech. "That's not any of your business!" he hissed.

Altaïr hummed thoughtfully. "I thought men talked about this all the time," he said. That was the impression he got from the few times he had to follow targets into bathhouses or brothels, anyway. "Is it embarrassing?"

Malik pulled his robe back into place. "Yes, it's embarrassing. Why do you want to know so badly anyway?"

Altaïr hadn't really thought about why he was curious, but as he did, the answer came to him surprisingly quickly. "I want to know if I should be jealous of someone," he said honestly. Malik froze entirely. His whole aura radiated surprise.

"You… what?"

Why was that surprising, Altaïr wondered. "Malik… I don't kiss people because I dislike the feeling. I don't let people touch me because their touch is unpleasant. But I let you touch me, and I like kissing you," he said. "I've never enjoyed sex that much, but I think I would like it more with you."

"Men don't have sex with each other, Altaïr," Malik said.

"No. They are not _supposed_ to have sex,” Altaïr said. "But I know of many who do it anyway."

Malik sighed but nodded. "True, enough. This isn't a discussion that I thought I'd ever have with you…" he said.

"Why not?"

"Never in my life, in the entire time I've known you, have you ever so much as mentioned sex, Altaïr," Malik said. "I thought you weren't interested in it."

Altaïr shrugged. "Perhaps it was just the people I was not interested in."

"None of this matters anyway," Malik said. "It is against the laws of both land and religion for two men to do that."

"Nothing is true, and everything is permitted, Malik," Altaïr said.

Malik sighed. "You know, every time you say that you either have just done or are about to do something very poorly conceived," Malik said.

"It is not poorly conceived," Altaïr denied. He leaned a bit closer, something he almost never did because he was usually looking to increase space between him and others, not reduce it. "What were you thinking about, Malik?"

Altaïr could tell Malik was looking at him from the angle of his face. He was flushed with purple again, although not as strong as before. There was a bit more red and pink in his aura. Altaïr remained patient, as Malik seemed to think about the question this time. "… I was thinking about you, you arrogant bastard."

Altaïr smiled, not caring about the insult but just glad to hear that Malik had been thinking about _him_ and not someone else. He hadn't thought he'd care so much, but he found that he did. "Everything is permitted, Malik," Altaïr said.

"Idiot Novice," Malik grumbled, but he put his hand to Altaïr's jaw and pulled him in for a kiss.

Altaïr happily went with the motion and wrapped one arm around Malik's neck while his other moved lower. He pushed the pillow off of Malik's lap and the robe out of the way. Malik grumbled something into the kiss and shifted his weight to give the taller man easier access. Without a second arm, he couldn't stop them from becoming overbalanced and falling back into the pillows stacked in the corner. Neither of them really minded.


	8. Chapter 8

Sex was not something that Altaïr indulged in often. He only rarely felt desire at all and usually didn't bother to act on it since it tended to pass quickly. Because Altaïr hadn't been intimate with anyone in years, he was afraid that he might not be good enough at it for Malik. Malik either hadn't noticed or hadn't minded Altaïr's nerves about his performance and -though he seemed surprised- had been enthusiastic. And Altaïr was right. Sex with Malik was so much better than it had been with anyone else. It went from an odd form of an endurance test to something else that Altaïr couldn't think of a proper word for.

Afterwards, Altaïr had cleaned them both up since he couldn't (and never had been able to) abide that mess for more than a moment or two. With everything cleaned up, they curled up under the covers, even closer than before, and drifted off to sleep.

The morning wasn't as awkward as Altaïr imagined it would be. Though he was now accustomed to waking up with Malik in his arms, they weren't usually naked or quite as tightly pressed together. Though that part was strange, the situation didn't feel as entirely alien and unpleasant as Altaïr had been trying to prepare himself for. Altaïr was also content to stay in bed for a little while longer and actually somehow managed to doze off again. When he woke up the second time, Malik had apparently gotten up and started a meal. Altaïr could smell it in the air.

There weren't any novices to be found when the Grandmaster stepped out of the room, fully dressed. "I sent them all out already," Malik said when Altaïr mentioned it. "I didn't want to deal with them."

Altaïr supposed that made sense and sat down at the table while Malik brought over the food. Altaïr had tried to help precisely once, and Malik had gotten angry before forbidding him from ever doing it again. Since Altaïr didn't particularly care, he thought it best to just do as Malik had commanded -especially since he wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. If the one-armed man _wanted_ help again, he would say so, Altaïr figured.

Malik sat down beside Altaïr, and they started on breakfast in silence. Usually, they didn't talk until they were both done, but this time Malik broke the quiet. "You were muttering in your sleep again," Malik said.

"... did I bother you?"

"No. But..." Malik sighed. "Who is Farida? It wasn't a name I recognized."

Altaïr frowned. He hadn't thought of Farida in a long time. "Farida... was someone that Al Mu-" Malik cleared his throat. Ah, yes, Malik had told him to stop using the title. Altaïr had forgotten. "... Rashid took me to when I was younger. A prostitute in Damascus."

"Why in Allah's name would Rashid take you to a prostitute?" Malik asked.

"I was bad at getting close to people," Altaïr said. "I blended well with a crowd, but because I dislike being close to strangers, I would hesitate to come close enough to strike. The hesitation was enough to sometimes get me noticed. He thought someone who's job it was to get close to others would be able to help... along with some other skill he said I should have already figured out."

Malik was quiet. "I am afraid to ask... but what other skills?"

Altaïr shrugged. "Sex."

"Tell me he didn't hire a prostitute to have sex with you for the first time," Malik said, his aura was sparking again with a dangerous mix of colors.

"No. I never had sex with Farida," Altaïr said. "And that wasn't my first time. But he did tell me to watch. Farida got upset with him... they argued about it, but in the end, Al Mualim must have proved his point..." It had been an intensely uncomfortable situation, and Altaïr had been punished if he'd tried to look away. Al Mualim had just said that if such a thing bothered him, Altaïr would never be able to kill a man and be an assassin.

Malik cursed and shook his head. "The more I find out about our supposed 'Master,' the more I wish I had been the one in the courtyard that day. How old were you, Altaïr?" Malik asked.

Altaïr thought for a moment. "... I had just turned thirteen, I believe. Or was just about to..."

Red was sparking all over Malik again, and Altaïr wasn't sure why. Al Mualim had told him at that age all the other boys knew all of that and much more. Altaïr never had any reason to disbelieve that as he'd heard the other boys speaking strange rumors that he didn't understand before. True, they had all been vague, and nobody had spoken to Altaïr about them as even then, he was becoming less liked by his peers at a rapid rate, but he had been aware they existed.

The silence lingered for longer than Altaïr thought it would. But then Malik sighed. "... so who was Farida to you then?" he asked. "More than just a prostitute, you met once if you were saying her name in your sleep, I think."

"His," Altaïr corrected.

Malik's aura radiated confusion. "Though the Mistress of the house and even Al M-Rashid would call him her all the time... Farida wasn't a girl. He hated it immensely when they called him a girl's name, but I never did find out his real one," Altaïr explained. "He had been sold when his family became too poor, and the slavers said he had a pretty enough face for men to find pleasing."

"What happened to him?"

"He got sick... died when I was fifteen," Altaïr said, twisting the sash at his waist in discomfort.

"You kept in contact with him that long?"

Altaïr nodded. "He was one of Rashid's favorites. But sometimes when I was working in Damascus, I would visit him. He never made me feel uncomfortable or would touch me. He knew I didn't like it, and I don't think he liked it much either. Especially if he had been working before I got there."

Malik put his hand over Altaïr's to stop the repetitive twisting and flattening of the red cloth. "Altaïr... if Farida was _one of_ Rashid's favorites... just how many times did he take you there and make you watch him have sex?"

Altaïr didn't want to think to try and come up with an answer, so shook his head. "I don't know. Enough to teach me what I needed to know, I suppose."

"Enough for you to become friends with the prostitutes," Malik said.

"Mostly Farida..." Altaïr said. "Although I suppose the others were nice enough and I would sometimes talk to them. Some hated me... I think because they didn't know why I was there. They called me a pervert sometimes. Others said I was wrong in my head. I didn't talk to those."

"I don't blame you," Malik muttered. "But... if you were dreaming of Farida last night... does that mean you would have rather been with him than me?"

"No. I never thought of Farida like that," Altaïr said quickly. "I don't remember what I dreamed of... but it might have been because once Farida told me something. He said that there was one customer he had that he really liked. That was nice to him, and Farida would have slept with him even if not for the money. Farida said that... whores are not supposed to fall in love with their customers, but he hadn't been able to help it, and that was why Farida could enjoy sex with him when he couldn't enjoy anyone else."

"The situations aren't really the same, Altaïr," Malik said. "You're not a whore forced to sell yourself, and I am not a man paying for your attention."

"No. But, I never really felt this way about any of the others, and it was a chore to sleep with them. Unlike you," Altaïr said.

Malik's aura bloomed lovely colors in Altaïr's vision. "You continually surprise me, Novice. Truly."

Altaïr wasn't sure what he did that was surprising this time but was glad when Malik allowed the conversation to drift to other topics. After breakfast, Malik had work, and Altaïr knew he had a long ride back to Masyaf. None of the older members of the brotherhood had been happy with Altaïr's decision to leave in the first place and would no doubt be giving Naila a hard time over every little thing.

Collecting the last of his equipment only took a few minutes, even though Altaïr didn't rush. Malik gave him a kiss before he left. "Come back alive, and maybe you'll get another," he said, and Altaïr nodded. If that was going to continue to be his reward for returning alive, he was more than happy to collect.

"Hopefully, I will have a replacement for you here in Jerusalem soon, and it will be you coming back to Masyaf," Altaïr said.

"Make sure you have Naila write to me if you need me to return before then. Even just for a short time," Malik said. "I will be happy to show anyone who needs it how to be respectful of their Master."

Altaïr watched the colors roll over Malik and smiled. "Naila would call you overprotective again. I can handle any of them," Altaïr said.

"If this experience has taught us anything, Novice, is that sometimes the danger comes from where you don't expect it," Malik said. "Just be cautious. Swear it to me."

"I swear to be cautious... although I still think you are overreacting. I trust none of them like I trust you," Altaïr said. Oddly Malik's aura showed sadness that Altaïr wasn't sure what the cause was.

"Truly? Not a single other brother?"

Altaïr thought for a moment. "I trust some. The ones that are blue... Like Rauf. But... I see now how easily men can be swayed or tricked. I can't bring myself to put them in the same place as I do you. I know that is probably wrong of me-"

"I didn't say that," Malik said. "And after... everything, I suppose it makes sense you would be wary of the others."

"They are still angry over what we did to Rashid's body. Abbas is always bringing it up to the others," Altaïr said. He had mentioned it briefly in a few letters, but he hadn't actually voiced aloud that it bothered him to anyone. "It worries me."

Malik nodded. "Me as well. That is why I bid you be careful and return safely."

"I will, Malik," Altaïr said. They exchanged one last, lingering kiss before Altaïr climbed up the wall to exit the bureau. He still didn't particularly want to leave. Just the idea of returning to all of the responsibilities, decisions, and arguments involved with being Grandmaster was bringing the threat of a headache.

The trip back to Masyaf was mostly uneventful, with one minor incident involving a squadron of crusaders blocking most of the road with their formation. That was easy enough to avoid by just venturing off to one side for a short period. Luckily, Altaïr's horse had a steady temperament and was surefooted enough to take a little rougher terrain at a high pace.

Altaïr let the stable boys handle his horse since he honestly couldn't tell if he missed spots in grooming. He had barely stepped out through the gates when he spotted a familiar aura with a limp coming towards him. "Grandmaster!"

"Naila. What's the matter?"

"It's Abbas."

Altaïr frowned, but before he could ask what Abbas was doing this time, he could hear a commotion from near one of the watchtowers on the hill. Hurrying closer, it only took a moment to realize that Abbas was at the top of the tower, rambling something about how Altaïr was not fit to lead them and how disgraceful it was that they had burned Al Mualim's body. In his hand, was the painfully bright glow of the Apple. "Abbas! Put that down! The artifact is too dangerous!"

"So you claim, _Grandmaster_ , but I know how you lie! How you covet and horde all the power for yourself!"

"Abbas, whatever it is showing you is nothing but lies and illusions! You must let it go!"

Abbas scoffed aloud and held the orb up high. More light started streaming from Abbas' palm, and the world seemed to shatter. Naila grabbed hold of Altaïr's arm when the very ground broke beneath them and then flowed back together like water. Altaïr didn't think it was Abbas' intention as he was shouting something else about Altaïr's supposed ulterior motives and didn't seem to be focused on the illusions.

Then, a whip of the light flailing brushed across Abbas' forehead. The man cried out in pain, and Altaïr watched golden light flash through Abbas' unpleasantly dark red aura. It reminded Altaïr of lightning cutting through a night sky. Abbas fell out of sight, but the illusions were still filling the air.

Altaïr pushed through the panicking crowd to hurry up the tower. Luckily, the tower wasn't too hard to climb, and none of the illusions were convincing enough to distract Altaïr from his task.

When he got to the top platform, the Apple was loosely held in Abbas' hand, but he was moaning slightly and didn't seem to be aware of what was going on. Since Altaïr had taken the Apple from Al Mualim, he had been trying to figure out its secrets since no weapon had so much as scratched its surface. He was hoping that he could eventually find out how to destroy the artifact. His experiments hadn't yielded results yet, but he had figured out how to handle the thing without triggering its powers. Altaïr took the orb from Abbas and focused on pulling the power back inside of the golden shell.

Abbas groaned again, slightly louder this time as Altaïr stood up. "I... I didn't know," Abbas said weakly.

Altaïr felt like pointing out that he had _said_ it was dangerous, but he wasn't even sure Abbas was fully aware of his surroundings. Who knew what the orb had shown him to cause him to fall like that. "It's going to be fine, Abbas." The other man didn't show any signs of having heard Altaïr.

Several other brothers came to help Abbas to the healers, although Altaïr had no idea what they could possibly do for the man. As he climbed down with the orb safely stashed in his robe, Naila came over to him. "He stole it from your office," she said. "I'm not sure when, but I certainly didn't let him inside the room."

"I know," Altaïr said. "I suppose I can't keep it so exposed any longer..."

"Where else can you keep it, though?" Naila asked.

"For now, with me... until I think of something safer." Altaïr didn't like that solution, he didn't particularly want the orb on his person. He had a feeling that exposure to the Apple left a corrupting influence. It had greatly effected both Al Mualim and Abbas. Altaïr didn't want to be next.

Naila also didn't appear to agree but didn't argue, which Altaïr was glad for. The incident with Abbas still had to be contained, and Altaïr wasn't sure how he was going to do that. For now, Abbas had to be treated for whatever had injured him.

Altaïr wasn't particularly surprised when, several days later, Malik showed up blistering red through his aura. Altaïr somehow knew that it wasn't directed at him even as Malik nearly kicked down his door. "Can't I leave you alone for a day, Novice?" he demanded.

"Hello, Malik," Altaïr said from where he was sitting behind his desk. Naila was nearby, reading him a report from Acre. Nothing dreadfully important, but Altaïr _had_ been putting it off for a little while.

"Don't you 'hello' me, Novice! Tell me, what are you going to do about Abbas?"

Altaïr blinked a few times as Naila sighed and went to close the door to the room that Malik had left open. "I was thinking of reducing his rank," Altaïr said.

" _Reducing his rank?_ That's all?"

"What would you prefer?" Altaïr asked.

Malik moved closer and leaned down to put his one hand on the desk. "He will only betray you again if you don't do something now. He attacked you as children, he's betrayed you now, do you really think it'll stop if all you do is take away a few ranks?" he asked.

"No," Altaïr said honestly. "But I can't punish him for something he did as a child nor for something he hasn't done yet. You and I both know how effective losing ranks can be. Perhaps, once he recovers and then has to work to get back to his current level, he'll realize the importance of being united."

Malik straightened. "It's a mistake, Altaïr."

"I'm sure you said that about me too," Altaïr said.

"Abbas is not you."

"Nor are his crimes as severe as mine were," Altaïr said. "He's hurt himself more in this situation than anyone else. He's still recovering from whatever the Apple did to him."

Altaïr was glad to see some of the red fading from Malik's aura. He definitely preferred the man blue. "Sometimes I liked you better unreasonable," Malik said.

"You are being overprotective again," Naila commented.

Malik turned to Naila. "I am not overprotective. He's just a Novice that is making a poor decision."

"Malik. I cannot go around killing people who make mistakes. Not only is that a horrible thing to do, but it would cause more rifts in the Order. We have had enough internal strife, haven't we?" Altaïr asked. Malik huffed but didn't say anything. "I know the others don't yet trust me... I can see it. So, even though I know it might be a problem later... mercy is more valuable to me now."

"When did you acquire wisdom, Novice?" Malik asked. He sounded unhappy, and his aura supported that, but Altaïr could see other colors swallowing up the displeasure. Altaïr was glad that Malik was calming down from his clear worry.

"Somewhere around the time I went blind, I think," Altaïr said.

Malik sighed and walked around the desk. He lifted a hand to Altaïr's cheek and lowered his head close. "You are the least blind of all of us. You just see it differently."

"... does it count as returning safely if you're the one that came to me?" Altaïr asked.

"I suppose it can," Malik said.

"Then you owe me a kiss."

Malik chuckled a little and brushed his thumb across Altaïr's cheek. "Greedy, Novice," he murmured before crossing the remaining distance to press their lips together.

Altaïr tilted his head to make it easier and lifted one of his own hands to hold onto Malik's forearm. Malik pressed closer, letting his hand shift to the back of Altaïr's head and knocking the hood he was wearing back. The kiss deepened, and Malik was able to taste the inside of Altaïr's mouth. Having someone else's tongue against his own was a sensation Altaïr that was still getting used to, but Malik went slow enough to make that possible.

The kiss continued another few moments before the noise of a throat clearing broke the mood. Malik pulled away to look sharply to the side, and Altaïr was left a little dazed. "It's funny how quickly people forget about servants," Naila said.

Naila had her arms crossed, and her aura was amused when Altaïr looked over. "Listen-" Malik tried to say.

"Master Malik, I have seen the two of you in the same bed far closer than just friends would ever be," Naila said. "And now you are kissing in the middle of the Grandmaster's office. You aren't fooling me. But if you want to fool the Assassins, you'll probably have to try a little harder."

"We're not trying to fool anyone," Altaïr denied. Honestly, such a thought hadn't really occurred to him. He liked kissing and sleeping with Malik, and that didn't affect anyone but them.

"Well, seeing how bad you are at it, that's probably good," Naila said. "I doubt the other Assassins would be comfortable with it, though, so perhaps you should keep it quieter."

Malik seemed unhappy again. "We aren't going to flaunt anything. They don't have to know anything about our personal lives."

Naila shrugged. "Lucky for you, the others seem rather happy to remain blind to such things. I'm sure they will willingly allow you to keep it secret with little effort. And I'm not about to tell them anything different. But, if rumors do start to circulate, you may have to come up with a plausible alternate story for them to blind themselves to the truth with."

"You are taking this better than I thought," Malik said.

"Well, let's just say I wasn't terribly put out by the thought of never finding a husband," Naila said. "I'm perfectly fine just me and myself, although I know that's hard to believe. The only good thing about being married would be that it would give me children. Otherwise, I have no use for a husband."

Altaïr nodded in understanding. Up until he started getting along better with Malik, he also hadn't thought he'd ever have use for anyone else. "Anyway, if I hear any rumors about it, I'll let you know so you won't be caught off guard by anyone," she said. "But if there's nothing else... I think I'll let you two have your fun."

Before either man had a chance to respond, Naila turned and left the office, making sure to close the door behind her. Malik huffed. "It's no wonder the two of you get along. She can be about as blunt as you, Novice."

"She's easy to understand that way," Altaïr said. Most other women that talked to Altaïr would say one thing, but then, later on, Altaïr would find out they'd meant something else entirely. It was confusing.

"Have you found a replacement for me in Jerusalem yet?" Malik asked.

Altaïr shook his head. "No. I haven't had a chance to continue the search what with everything that happened."

"Then I should probably stay a few days to speed up the process," Malik said. "Because leaving you here alone clearly isn't a very good idea."

"Why do you say that?"

"After what happened with Abbas, you can still ask that question?" Malik asked. "He tried to cause an entire riot among the Order and replace you as Grandmaster. Which, by the way, I should not have had to find out through Naila."

"There's nothing to be done after the fact," Altaïr said. Although, that did answer how Malik had found out so much about Abbas so quickly. Altaïr hadn't wanted Malik to be concerned, so he hadn't bothered to mention more than the barest of details in his own letter. Naila must have been adding parts again.

Malik sighed and leaned against Altaïr's desk. "You are going to drive me to an early grave, Novice..."

"I don't mean to."

Malik hummed and crossed his one arm over his chest. "Of course, you don't. But you will, anyway. I don't have long to be here before I must return to Jerusalem... let's see about finding my replacement or at least a likely candidate before I go, shall we?"


	9. Chapter 9

Despite all the best efforts, there simply wasn't any candidate available to take the Jerusalem bureau from Malik. Well, not one that both Altaïr and Malik agreed upon. So, even though neither particularly wanted it to happen, Malik was forced to leave to oversee his city once again. To try and help mitigate the ill-will that was still circulating due to the Abbas situation, Altaïr sent the demoted Assassin to Acre to work there for a little while. Hopefully, some distance would cool tempers.

Before Altaïr could realize how quickly time was moving, it had been a full year since he had been instated as head of the order. Malik or Altaïr would visit the other once every few months under the pretense of business. Altaïr still could not tolerate sitting quietly in his office for weeks on end without something more hands-on to do. Malik would sometimes drop by Masyaf to argue with Altaïr over decisions he made that he disagreed with. Those instances got the rumor mill going every time about how they were likely to kill each other soon. Naila thought the rumors incredibly amusing, especially if she happened to know for a fact that after those arguments, one or both of the two assassins would often be sore the next morning.

Malik and Naila seemed to have come to some sort of agreement without Altaïr's input. It was becoming more and more frequent for them to echo each other when trying to get the Grandmaster to, as they put it, 'look after himself properly.' Altaïr decided to find it amusing rather than annoying. Especially when he realized there wasn't any talking them out of their little conspiracy.

Altaïr was certain without Naila and Malik assisting him, he would have run away from the responsibility of leading the order after only a few weeks. Not only did Naila read the reports, but both of them served as a counterpoint opinion for him to use to try and make decisions. Invaluable since Altaïr often felt he didn't fully grasp the issues sometimes brought to him. 

Additionally, because Naila was well known to have a lasting physical injury, nobody questioned when she would go and buy drugs that dulled senses and pain. Even if it wasn't strictly for herself. Because Altaïr did still struggle with crippling headaches and sometimes they were so bad, the incapacitated state that the drugs left him in was well worth the relief from the pain.

One year turned into two, and things were starting to finally settle. Though Abbas still appeared unfriendly in his aura, he also kept quiet, so Altaïr let him be in return. Malik was still not happy about that, but Altaïr was firm in his decision to not punish Abbas for something he hadn't yet done. 

The Assassin couple still occasionally touched on the topic of Al Mualim and the things he'd done but were, on the whole, trying to put most of it behind them. Most often, they spoke about it when Malik would question Altaïr in some way, and the answer -almost inevitably- came back to how Rashid had trained him. Such as the time Malik asked about Altaïr's past sexual history.

They had been in bed, mostly dozing in the pleasant afterglow caused by the first time together in nearly three months. Malik had been tracing the firm curve of Altaïr's buttocks and the long, lean lines of his back without too much thought and blurted out the question, "Just how many people have you done this with, Altaïr?"

"Mm, why?" Altaïr asked without bothering to open his eyes. There was no real need to do so, and his head would appreciate the break. Watching Malik's aura shimmer through colors like an explosion as he found his pleasure was intensely beautiful to the point of being near painful. Altaïr could never take his eyes off of it as it was happening, but he needed to rest them after.

"You said once that you like doing this with me when you never had anyone else," Malik said. "That implies there were others, and I... dislike that thought."

Altaïr cracked his eye open and watched the green sparking along Malik's chest right by where Altaïr's head was resting. "... you are jealous."

Malik grumbled something Altaïr couldn't make out, but he thought it might have been some sort of denial. Altaïr hummed and closed his eyes. There was a long silence as the two men lay tangled together. "Alright, yes, fine," Malik finally said. "The thought of you like this with anyone, aside from me is infuriating."

Altaïr was oddly pleased by the admission, so he decided to answer Malik's question. "You're the fifty-eighth person I've had sex with, Malik."

Malik sputtered and choked over nothing as he shot upright. "Fifty-eighth?!" Altaïr pushed himself half up, a little confused by the reaction and dislodged by Malik's own move. Was that too low? Altaïr wondered. "Altaïr... here I was thinking you'd been a virgin for most of your life, and you've had that many partners?"

"Why did you think I was a virgin? Was I bad?"

"What? No! I just-" Malik let out a noise of frustration and lifted his hand to run through his hair. Altaïr waited as Malik's aura shifted and slowly settled again. "You are not bad. You're one of the best I've ever shared a bed with. Certainly the best man-"

"I'm the only man you've shared a bed with."

"Shut up, Novice, I'm paying you a compliment," Malik said without much heat. "But, with how you are, I suppose I just never pictured you having had so much... experience."

Altaïr processed that as Malik slowly laid back down and wrapped his arm around the Grandmaster's shoulders. "Especially since you said you never liked it before."

Malik let his hand return to rubbing along Altaïr's spine and backside. "... I didn't like it much," Altaïr said. "But I didn't sleep with them for pleasure."

The hand on Altaïr's back paused for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I..." Altaïr took a moment to reorganize his thoughts, thankful that Malik allowed him the chance to do it. "Novices collect information for other, higher-ranked, Assassins. When I was a Novice... truly a Novice, Al Mualim-"

"Altaïr."

"... Rashid," Altaïr corrected. He still couldn't break that ingrained habit despite the old man being dead for years by that point. "He would give me the most difficult investigations. The ones who had loyal friends and guards. The best way to get the information we needed was to infiltrate their homes. Sometimes that was easy to do... other times it was harder. When it was very difficult to get inside, the best option was usually to be welcomed in for sex. I was smaller then, and not as intimidating, I suppose. As I got older, it happened less, but I had advanced ranks by then and didn't gather information much anymore anyway."

"Did Rashid tell you to do that?" Malik asked, his aura sparking red again.

"No," Altaïr said. "He never said to do anything specific like that... he just said any means was acceptable."

Malik was quiet while his aura seethed. "How did you think to do that?" he asked after a minute. "I find it hard to believe that you came up with that way of getting into the estates all on your own."

"Al Mua-I mean-Rashid said that most people were stupid when sex was involved and that some of the best assassins had used sex as a weapon. That it was why we worked with dancers as a distraction," Altaïr said. "He knew I had sex with older men and would ask me if I heard or saw anything. They usually did, so... I started going to have sex just to find out things."

"What did he say after you told him that was how you got him his information?" Malik asked in a very controlled tone. Altaïr was glad for the deliberate, somewhat false-sounding calm because it was hard to handle when Malik yelled.

"He just said that it was good I was so resourceful," Altaïr said. "That I shouldn't be upset because I had already sworn body and life to the Creed."

"That's only supposed to refer to injuries. Like losing fingers and getting broken bones. Not allowing someone to use you like that," Malik said.

"But I was using them," Altaïr said. "They let me in, and that led, ultimately, to the death of either themselves or someone near them."

Malik sighed and decided it was perhaps best to let the subject go. There was no changing the past, and Altaïr, at least at the moment, didn't seem disturbed by what had happened. Malik had his suspicions that Altaïr was mostly still parroting the things Rashid had told him, but that was usually a dangerous place to start prodding. "Alright, but you haven't done that in a long time, right?"

"Yes. I am no longer as appealing now that I am fully grown and scarred," Altaïr said.

"Nonsense," Malik said. "You're far more attractive like this than as the scrawny Novice you were years ago."

"I am glad you think so, Malik. I didn't think you would have."

Malik leaned over to press a kiss to Altaïr's forehead. "You should know by this point I find you very good looking, Novice."

"You've never said."

"Haven't I?" Malik asked. Altaïr shook his head. "Mm, I suppose I haven't. Well, you are good looking. I've thought it for years, even when you were insufferable. Made you more insufferable to be honest."

"You still call me insufferable," Altaïr said.

"That's because you are. I just know how to shut you up better now," Malik said with a small bit of good humor coloring his lazily swirling aura. Altaïr wasn't particularly offended by that. He knew Malik well enough by now to be able to figure out when Malik was teasing him and when he was genuinely upset.

The two assassins lapsed into silence for a good five or so minutes, and Malik even started to doze off again. "Malik..."

"What, Novice?" Malik asked without opening his eyes.

"Are you upset with me?"

Malik looked down at Altaïr on his chest. "Upset with you? Why would I be upset with you?"

"For being with so many before you," Altaïr said. "Usually, I can tell if you're mad at me or not, but... I'm not sure this time." The red sparks had been particularly bright and numerous.

"No, Altaïr. I'm surprised. And... yes, upset, but not with you. Those people that would have sex with a child and Rashid are who I am upset with. Rashid shouldn't have led you to believe you had to do that to complete your missions," Malik said. "He shouldn't have taken you to whore houses and made you watch sex acts either. That part of your life wasn't his business."

Malik rested his hand on Altaïr's bare hip. Malik still had plenty of questions, but he wasn't sure if he should ask them. He was convinced he wouldn't like whatever Altaïr had to say. "Can I ask you something else? Something you might not want to answer?" Malik asked cautiously. Altaïr nodded. "Why had you already been sleeping with older men at such a young age?"

Altaïr rolled his shoulder slightly. "I had already seen how sex worked, and Al Mualim said I was more than old enough to have it... so when a few men started... doing things I... I guess I thought I was supposed to let them..."

"Did... did Rashid ever touch you?"

"No, of course not, he wasn't interested in boys," Altaïr said. "Why do you ask?"

"It just... it seems strange that he would be so interested in that part of your life," Malik said. "Especially if he wasn't taking advantage of you."

Altaïr shrugged again. "Perhaps it was because of his friends."

"His friends?"

"Back then Al Mualim-"

"Rashid."

"Rashid. He would go and visit different cities to personally find informants and allies," Altaïr said. "He would bring me with him sometimes. Some of those friends liked boys and would even have some in their beds. I guess Al Mu- _Rashid_ didn't want me to be upset when I saw that. He knew that I sometimes had trouble with unexpected situations."

Malik rather doubted that reasoning. To him, it seemed far too suspect that Rashid would be the one to introduce Altaïr to sex, convince him that it was normal for those his age to be having sex, conveniently have friends that were attracted to young boys, and then pry Altaïr for information after taking the boy to see those friends. Malik thought it sounded more like a carefully constructed plan to use Altaïr, like how the Trojans used their wooden horse. But, Altaïr probably would not like it if Malik said that. He understandably got upset if he thought about how he'd been used all of his life or if Malik pointed out some new hypocrisy from their teacher.

"I'm sorry that nobody ever noticed what was going on. I suppose we all just trusted that Rashid would never do something like that," Malik said.

"It's not your fault," Altaïr said. "You weren't any older than me, so you couldn't have done anything."

"I can still be sorry for it," Malik said. 

Altaïr didn't say anything else, and Malik kissed his forehead on impulse. He wasn't sure if it would convey the support he wanted it to, but he figured that it couldn't hurt either. The sound of the night coming in through the window was soothing. The warm weight of their bodies pressed together, and the blankets kept the chill away and kept them plenty comfortable. Slowly they both drifted off to sleep and left the unpleasant topics for much later.

Malik had to return to Jerusalem only a few days later and, though Altaïr was not happy about it, he tried his best to just focus on his work or training. Slowly, the older and higher ranked assassins were starting to adjust to Altaïr's methods of leadership. There was still debate about certain things, but Naila was teaching Altaïr how to stop those quicker so that they didn't stress him quite as much. One of the most effective things she told him to say was how they could go complain to Malik if they really disliked something so much. For some reason, nobody seemed to want to do that. Altaïr supposed it was because that would involve them going to Jerusalem just to make a complaint.

A few months later, Altaïr was tracking an informant down. The man was supposed to be in Damascus, but by the time Altaïr finally found the man, he'd ended up several miles north of Acre in a small fishing village. The chase had left Altaïr feeling a bit annoyed. As he sat down in front of the informant, however, he thought he recognized the person. The golden aura was familiar as was the voice with the strange accent, but Altaïr was not supposed to have ever met this informant before this.

The golden aura was speckled with black and red. Not so much that it was worrisome but enough to catch Altaïr's attention. But, it wasn't until the figure bent half over the table to speak, and Altaïr caught a whiff of strange flowers he'd only smelled once before did he realize who was sitting across from him. "You're the crusader woman."

She hissed at him. "How did you- Nobody here knows that!"

"Your perfume," Altaïr said. "It is a strange flower... not one from here."

"You... never mind," she said. "Do you want to know what I have to tell you or no?"

Altaïr thought for a moment. "Why would you tell me anything? I can tell you do not like me."

"You killed Robert," she said. "He was good to me."

That didn't answer the question or explain anything, but Altaïr felt compelled to reply anyway. "He would have sacrificed you to save himself," Altaïr said.

Her aura sparked red again. "I volunteered. But that's not why I'm here... I heard he was plotting against the King before he died. Was that true?"

"It is."

The woman went quiet, and her aura was sparking conflicting colors in front of Altaïr's eyes. "... I can't believe he would do that," she said.

"He did. I'm not lying," Altaïr said.

"I'm not saying you are, it's just hard to believe. Robert always seemed so... loyal and just," she said. "To know he was plotting against the King is... it doesn't feel like something he would do."

Altaïr was confused. It seemed perfectly reasonable to him that Robert would betray someone who was not his true Master like that. But, then again, when he had first discovered Al Mualim's treachery, he'd had a hard time processing it as well. "From what I have heard, he never planned on following the King of England for long. Only for however long it worked within his own goals." Malik had read to Altaïr some of the writings that had been salvaged from Solomon's Temple, and it seemed clear that Robert had even then been planning to betray King Richard at some point.

She remained quiet for several minutes, and Altaïr watched her aura fluctuating. "... you and Robert were close?" he guessed.

"Nobody else has ever given me a chance like he did," she said. "Even after he found out that I had breasts, he didn't... Everyone else, even my parents, all told me to behave more like a woman." She seemed unhappy, and the word 'woman' was said with a strange, harsh twist. Altaïr wasn't sure why.

"If you are so angry with me for killing Robert... why would you come here to meet with me?" Altaïr asked.

"The man who replaced Robert, Armand Bouchart, he is not one I would see holding any power. He is not worthy of it," she said.

"No man is worthy of enslaving another," Altaïr said. 

Her aura roiled. "Enslavement is a harsh word. Without strong leaders, cities crumble, and people have nobody to protect them from those that would murder and pillage simply because they are strong."

"But the Templars like Robert and Armand do not advocate for leadership... but control," Altaïr said. "And freedom, although it can have its own difficulties, is worth protecting." 

"Robert and Armand are not the same," she said.

"No," Altaïr conceded. What little he knew of Armand said that he was not as subtle or skilled as Robert had been. "But they follow the same ideals. And I do not think you would be here willing to talk if you were entirely convinced that those ideals were right."

Altaïr waited patiently and watched her emotions shift. Finally, she took a breath and leaned closer. "I have heard some things I am not fond of," she finally said. "Armand and most of the remaining Templars have gone to Limassol, including several that I know you have targets on. I want to find out, once and for all, what their true intentions are. Robert would tell me about how wonderful the world would be when we managed to bring order to the world... but now that he is gone, I hear much different things. I need to know the truth behind who I've sworn my life to."

Slowly, Altaïr nodded. "I understand. I had to go through something similar with my own Master. He lied to the entire order and betrayed those that believed in him. Even now, when I think about what he said compared to what he did... it is hard. But, despite that, I am glad to know the truth."

And so, both of them went to Limassol. The woman introduced herself finally as Maria, although that name made dark red and black specks appear in her aura. When Altaïr confronted her about that, she said her given name _was_ Maria, but she had never liked it or felt like it fit her. When Altaïr asked what she felt fit her better, Maria had been painted the colors of surprise and said she'd never been asked that before. She said she would tell him when she figured it out.

After helping Altaïr hunt down Armand and some of his key supporters, Maria decided that the Templars were not the order she thought that they were and couldn't stay with them. She didn't want to return to England either, so Altaïr offered to give her a place in the Brotherhood. Maria was hesitant but after a few days of thought, agreed.

Malik was waiting at Masyaf when they returned, and he was sparking with displeasure. He wasn't happy with Altaïr's extended trip and even less so that he'd returned with a stranger that turned out to be tied to Templars. Naila was not particularly happy either but was less annoyed than Malik. She seemed to be willing to give Maria the benefit of the doubt and even said perhaps it was another chance to find someone with common sense. Altaïr had the feeling he should be offended by that for some reason. Abbas, when he found out, was downright livid judging by his color red, but clearly kept it to himself as Altaïr never heard any word from him about Maria's presence.

"Why on Earth would you bring the Templar woman to Masyaf?" Malik asked as Altaïr leaned back to close his eyes and give them a break. The windows in the study had all been blocked off to keep it dark so that it was more comfortable.

"One, she has left the Templars, Malik. Two, she has nowhere else to go," Altaïr answered. "She is skilled and knowledgeable, and there is no reason to not accept her."

"She could be trying to get revenge on us," Malik said.

"Maria is telling the truth about no longer wanting to be part of the Templars. I know it. She was not pleased about finding out what lengths her compatriots were willing to go to for their ideals," Altaïr said. One had apparently said as much.

Malik still seemed unhappy. "She looks at you oddly."

"Does she?" Altaïr asked.

"Yes. I don't like it," Malik said.

Altaïr opened his eyes to look over at Malik, where he was standing beside the desk. The color in his aura was beginning to be familiar. "Are you jealous of Maria?" Malik's aura showed his displeasure. "You shouldn't be. I see no desire for me in her aura. Sometimes a dark green color but never purple."

"What does green mean?" Malik asked.

"Well... if it is yellow-green, it tends to mean that one is sick. The brothers that Al Mualim controlled were that color. But Maria's is dark, and that means, I think, perhaps she is envious?" Altaïr said. He wasn't certain. It was hard to decipher some colors compared to others.

"Envious?"

Altaïr nodded. "I do not think she desires me so much as would rather be me... for some reason. I don't understand it, but that is the impression I get. I think she very much hates that she was born a woman over a man."

"I still don't know if I can trust her," Malik said.

"But you trust me, don't you?"

Malik was quiet for a moment. "Yes, Novice. You know I trust you."

Altaïr opened his eyes despite the throbbing in his head. "Maria is not a threat to me... or us, Malik. I swear she never will be."

"If you're wrong, I will never let you forget it," Malik said.

"I would expect nothing less."

Malik seemed to calm down a little bit after that, at least. Slowly, he became used to Maria's presence, especially as Naila promised him that she would keep an eye on things. And then, a few weeks after Altaïr returned, they were finally able to promote a brother to the rank of Dai. Malik was glad to be able to hand over the bureau to another and move back to Masyaf full time.

Maria, Altaïr knew, was a skilled swordswoman and took it upon herself to teach many of the women and children how to defend themselves after she heard that there had been attacks on the village in the past. The brothers weren't fond of that, but she didn't seem to care, and Altaïr had no problems with her activities. So, she continued teaching as well as helping Altaïr with tasks he didn't think the male brothers would be able to achieve. Maria was able to slip into places simply by changing her clothes, where the brothers would never manage. Something Altaïr had already known, but he had struggled to find a way to prove his ideas were practical to the others. Maria was a prime example of why Altaïr wanted to teach women -although the men put up such a fuss over it that he didn't feel he was able to do so just yet.

Altaïr was caught in a strange situation he had never even thought was possible. Instead of only having the support of his Master, suddenly Altaïr found himself not only with a partner in Malik but also with the support of Naila and Maria. It was strange having people he could go to that would listen and, even if they didn't fully understand how he explained things or came up with thoughts, they would at least try to do so. The change was not something Altaïr was used to, but he found that he liked it much more than the way before. It was like when his father was alive only... even more that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maria, if I were writing a modern AU, would be trans... but they have no idea what that is in the 12th century. So they don't say that and are doing a bit of unintentional misgendering, but to be fair Maria doesn't quite have it figured either. But Maria brings important women can fight too concept to Masyaf, which I didn't want to lose.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some very nasty homophobic language gets used in this chapter by everyone's favorite(?) asshole Abbas... just putting that out there.

_This is your own fault, Altaïr. I gave you very clear instructions._

Altaïr's back twitched, and he heard his own grunts of pain in his mind as he tried to not make noise. Assassins didn't scream. That was something Al Mualim had been very clear about. The blood dripping down his skin to stain his pants felt very real, as did the ropes digging into his wrists. Al Mualim always had a specific incense burning when he disciplined Altaïr. Now, he couldn't even smell it without growing tense and uncomfortable. Currently, it was burning his nose and made him want to gag.

"Novice?"

Malik moved a step closer. Altaïr tried to remember that Al Mualim was dead, and he wasn't currently getting whipped, but it was hard for some reason. _Foolish **boy** , all you had to do was get inside and find those documents. It wasn't hard!_

"Altaïr? Is everything alright?" 

Altaïr managed to shake his head and tried his best to not let the churning in his stomach actually make him physically ill. There was a reason he'd told every servant in Masyaf to never use that fragrance again. He'd even told Naila to throw it out if she found it. But someone had lit a stick when he and Malik had been out, and Altaïr had not been prepared for it at all. The whip cracked, and the muscles in Altaïr's back spasmed.

Malik made his hand very visible as he reached for Altaïr's arm. He was clearly worried about Altaïr's reaction, or lack thereof, and didn't want to make anything worse. He was moving slow enough for Altaïr to easily follow, but still, he flinched when Malik touched his arm. "What is it, Altaïr?"

Altaïr tried to say it, but the words refused to be said. They felt stuck behind the sickness that was crawling up his throat. _We are not even halfway done, Altaïr, and already you are crying? You will never be an Assassin if you cannot even endure this. That is pathetic._ The smack in his memories made the tang of blood in his mouth coat his tongue from where he'd bitten down. _... Next time you will do whatever you must to get the information won't you?_

Altaïr nodded immediately. "Altaïr, come on. Let's go to our room, and you can... relax," Malik said, tugging ever so slightly on the sleeve of the Grandmaster's robes.

Altaïr allowed himself to get pulled away, but his mind was still foggy, and his throat was clogged with emotion, memories, and the need to be sick. He wasn't even entirely sure how he was breathing. Malik had gotten quite good at guiding Altaïr along the halls without anyone noticing he was doing it. With that practice, Malik was able to get them to their bedroom and sat Altaïr on the bed without issue. "Novice... tell me what's wrong. You were fine earlier. What changed?"

The air was fresh here. Devoid of Al Mualim's favored incense, and that helped. Altaïr twisted the sash at his waist over and over as he tried to find his grounding again. Malik crouched down in front of his lover. He took hold of one hand, allowing the other to continue twisting and flattening and twisting and flattening on repeat with no real point. He didn't know why Altaïr did that, but he got more upset without the motion in at least one hand. "You went back again, didn't you?" Malik asked. Altaïr gave a jerky head movement that was close to a nod.

Incidents where Altaïr remembered too much too suddenly and had trouble processing didn't happen very often, but Malik had learned to recognize them when they did occur. He just wasn't sure what had triggered this particular one. Malik hated that Altaïr was still suffering from his childhood, even though the one who had done it all was dead and burned. The man had enough on his plate without these lapses on top of it. Just running the Order was sometimes so stressful that Malik had to take Altaïr away just so that he could find some peace.

Malik stayed there holding Altaïr's hand for a while as the other man slowly came back to the present. "M-Mal..."

"I'm here. You're alright. I promise," Malik said, running his thumb across the side of Altaïr's hand. They sat in silence for approximately another ten minutes before Malik thought that he could broach some questions to better understand what had happened. "Novice?" Altaïr blinked, his unfocused eyes drifting down to show that he was more present than he had been previously. "Can you tell me what made you go back?"

"In... incense."

"The incense? In the room?" Malik asked.

Altaïr nodded. Malik wasn't sure why something like that would affect Altaïr so much, but there were still plenty of things about Altaïr that he accepted he was never going to fully understand. Instead of pressing for more information, Malik nodded. "I'll ask Naila to air out that room before we have to go back in there. Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes. I'm sorry," Altaïr said.

"Don't apologize, Altaïr. I doubt you want to remember those moments," Malik said. 

There was a long pause. "Malik..."

Malik's eyebrow went up and, though he waited, Altaïr didn't say anything else. Malik had gotten somewhat used to Altaïr having trouble voicing his thoughts and especially what he wanted. From what the Dai could tell, Rashid had never really treated Altaïr with much consideration. In response, Altaïr pushed everything deeper and deeper so that now it was a genuine struggle to get Altaïr to voice his desires. Even when he did manage to say it, often things were so jumbled it was obvious to Malik that Altaïr simply didn't have the tools to explain himself. "What do you need, Altaïr? Just ask."

"... lay with me?"

Malik lifted his hand to Altaïr's face. His golden eyes had drifted off again and were fixed on some nonexistent point. "Just laying down, or do you want sex?" Malik asked. He needed to know for sure exactly what it was Altaïr wanted. He didn't think Altaïr wanted sex right now, but miscommunication was ever a hurdle for them.

Altaïr shook his head slightly. "Just lay down."

"Alright, let's get your boots off, and then we can do that," Malik said. It was hard to remove Altaïr's shoes with only one hand, but after a few moments, Altaïr came back to the situation enough to at least help. Malik toed off his own shoes and then got into bed with Altaïr. He settled himself against the Grandmaster's chest, where the other man would hold him tight like some makeshift security doll.

The two of them laid there for several hours until Naila came in. "Is everything alright?" she asked, stepping closer but wisely staying a few feet from the bed. 

Malik turned enough to better see the woman. "There was incense burning in the library when we returned from our walk. He didn't like it," Malik said. Really 'didn't like' was probably an understatement, but Malik wasn't entirely sure what else he could say. Besides, Naila could see Altaïr's state.

"Ah. That is Rashid's old supply, then?" Naila asked. Malik confirmed that with a nod. "I thought I had gotten rid of all of it. I'll make sure the room is aired and check to make sure there isn't any more hiding in any cupboards."

"Thank you, Naila," Malik said.

"Of course. Maria was looking for the Grandmaster, by the way. I'll tell her he'll see her tomorrow," she said. "It didn't sound so vital it couldn't wait. I think it was just more complaining about some of the Novices."

Malik inclined his head. "We will deal with it later then."

Naila made to turn but then paused. "Altaïr? Are you going to want your evening meal?" Altaïr didn't react right away, but then neither of them had really expected him to. Then he shook his head. Naila nodded, not seeming surprised by that. "Alright, just call me if he changes his mind, Master Malik."

"I will," Malik agreed, although he rather doubted that Altaïr would.

Malik pressed his lips to Altaïr's temple after the door closed again. Sometimes Altaïr could recover from these incidents quickly, but this one was already turning into an example of the more extended occasions. Hopefully, Altaïr would be more himself tomorrow. "It's all going to be alright, Altaïr," Malik said.

A few more hours had to pass before Altaïr seemed to more fully come back to himself. The two men stayed in bed a while longer, and though Malik desperately wanted Altaïr to talk to him, he knew it would be too soon. Malik picked another topic and told Altaïr about that until, eventually, Altaïr started to loosen his grip. They could return to their usual routine, which at that point, was getting ready for bed anyway.

The days at Masyaf ticked by without too much trouble aside from Altaïr's difficulties rising up on occasion. Malik and Altaïr, though they had separate rooms, stayed together. The servants whispered about it, and the bubbles of rumors started to rise, but Naila was able to keep the worst of it down. She had virtually taken over running the entirety of the fortress, and the servants had, by this point, learned to go to her with problems and she would efficiently sort everything out. Altaïr would just hand over most issues of day to day life to her anyway, so it was all the same. Running Masyaf's household duties took Naila away from helping Altaïr, but with Malik back and Maria sometimes stopping by to lend a hand, Naila's constant assistance wasn't needed.

Rauf and Maria were growing closer as they both had found fulfillment in teaching. They could often be spotted having loud debates about swordplay and other fighting techniques and would stop by for each other's lessons to help. Altaïr was glad for it because even though he had said Maria should be welcomed, Malik had said there was still some resistance to her presence. Maria, for her part, didn't seem to care what others thought of her and just continued to teach the women of the village how to defend themselves. Some, Altaïr had noticed, were even becoming as good as any novice. Altaïr wasn't sure if that reflected better on the women or worse on the novices.

Things were going well. Better than Altaïr had expected, at any rate. It was only natural that something would then take a wrong turn. He just hadn't anticipated the bad turn being quite what it ended up being. 

Altaïr was in his office, sharpening a throwing knife. At the same time, he thought about some reports Naila had read to him earlier in the day. Malik was dealing with some minor argument that probably would lead to him complaining for a good hour later that night. The afternoon was very peaceful, and then the door opened, and someone stepped into the office. The red and black swirling together into an unpleasant aura filled his vision. "Abbas. You really should knock." It was the polite and respectful thing to do.

"Return my ranks to me," Abbas said firmly and with absolutely no preamble.

Altaïr paused and studied the other man's aura again. Still black and red -sickened with anger and deception- but now that Abbas was closer, Altaïr could see glimmers of different colors. Jade. Gold. Orange. And... purple? What was all of this? Altaïr wasn't sure but didn't like it. "You must earn your ranks, Abbas. It defeats the point to just give them back without cause."

"Oh, there is cause _Grandmaster_ ," Abbas said as he leaned across Altaïr's desk. 

"And what cause is that?" Altaïr asked, not intimidated but not exactly comfortable as Abbas came closer. His personal space was precious, and Abbas was invading it. Only through the practice of his entire life with people in his space was Altaïr able to not react negatively.

Abbas' colors sparked and roiled before being overcome with the shades of a bone-deep bruise. Altaïr had never seen such a combination in an aura, and it made his mind scream warnings at him. "If you do not return my ranks, I will make sure everyone knows what you and _Master Malik_ do."

"Wha-"

"I saw the two of you," Abbas said before Altaïr could even completely get the question out. "You, our illustrious Grandmaster, bouncing like a whore on a cripple's lap. Defiling yourselves with your depravity. You whine like a bitch in heat when you spread your legs at night, and then you think you can turn around and be an example of our ideals!?"

Altaïr's temper snapped at the insult, and he grabbed Abbas by the neck to slam his head down against the top of the desk. The blade of the knife he had been sharpening dug into the wood right beside Abbas' face. "Remember who it is you're speaking to Abbas," Altaïr said.

"I'm speaking to a depraved, unmanned slut!" Abbas spat out.

"I could kill you for such disrespect."

Abbas struggled, but Altaïr kept him pinned by the back of the neck. "And how will you explain that?" Abbas asked. "Tell them all how I saw your disgrace?"

"If you find it so abhorrent, why spy on us?" Altaïr asked.

"It wasn't for such a horrible sight, believe me," Abbas said. "But if you want to be sure it stays silent, you'll give me my ranks back. Else I will tell the entire Order just who they're taking commands from..."

"They won't believe you," Altaïr said.

Abbas scoffed and finally managed to push himself off the desk. Altaïr allowed it and stepped back. His temper was always quick and burned hot but rarely kept for long, and this was no exception. Now that the surprise and offense of the insults were expected, it was easier to not lash out. He could hold it all in like Al Mualim had taught him to do. "You really think that they won't believe it? You, the bizarre man who has ever acted strangely? It's not really that much of a stretch to picture you as a sodomite as well," Abbas said.

"I will not be blackmailed into giving you what you haven't earned," Altaïr said firmly.

"No?" Abbas asked, although, for some reason, his aura was sparking amusement that Altaïr felt didn't fit the situation. "And what exactly do you think will happen to you and the cripple if it becomes known what you do? Nothing nice, I can guarantee you that."

Altaïr wasn't sure what, if anything, he could say to that. The door opened again, and Naila came in with a tray in her hands. Abbas huffed. "I'll give you time to think about it. Two days," Abbas said. He adjusted his robes before leaving, pushing past Naila rudely as he did, nearly knocking the tray from her hands.

The door closed a little harder than was truly necessary. "What was all that about?" Naila asked as she carried the meal to Altaïr's desk.

"Abbas has discovered me and Malik lay together," Altaïr said, still staring at the door as his brain whirled with this new information and problem. "He has threatened to tell the others if he does not get his ranks back."

"What? How could he possibly know that?" Naila asked. Altaïr was vaguely aware her aura had flushed pale and then suddenly bloomed with red out of the corner of his eye. Shock then intense anger.

Altaïr went back to his seat behind his desk. His eyes were fixed on the far wall as he thought. "He was spying on us. I suppose to find something to make me do what he wanted..."

"You're not going to give him what he wants, are you?" Naila asked.

"I... I'm not sure what else I can do," Altaïr said. He twisted his sash in his lap. His nerves were climbing to undisguisable levels. Though he'd told Abbas no, the more he thought about it, the less Altaïr wanted to test Abbas' resolve. "I don't want Malik to be hurt again because of me."

Naila put her hands on her hips. "Oh, because you jumped in his lap with giving him absolutely no say, did you?" she asked. Altaïr blinked in confusion and looked over at where she was standing beside the desk. "Perhaps you forced him to kiss you all those times?"

Altaïr wasn't sure if this required an answer, but as Naila was still standing there waiting, he decided to do so. "... no."

"Then it isn't because of you," Naila said. "We just have to come up with a way to ensure that nobody will believe Abbas, or at least will believe him less."

Altaïr flattened his sash. "How?"

"I'm going to get the others," Naila said. "You just eat your meal, and then we'll sit down and figure out what to do." Altaïr didn't have a chance to come up with a response before she was again out of his office. Naila was surprisingly quick despite the limp she possessed. He didn't eat. His mind was too busy to pay the food in front of him any attention.

When Naila returned with Malik and Maria some fifteen minutes later and explained what Abbas was threatening, neither of them were particularly happy. "We need to do something about Abbas," Malik said, where he was leaning against the desk beside where Altaïr was sitting. "I told you he would be a problem!"

"Malik, he has information now that could lead to you and Altaïr being killed," Maria said. She had taken a seat on the nearby windowsill. "We need to be clever about things. Defang his threat before we can deal with him directly."

"If he's dead, there is no threat," Malik said as he crossed his one arm across his chest.

"We can't just kill him," Naila said. "We might find it hard to believe, but he does have supporters, and they will be up in arms if Abbas shows up dead one day. Shockingly, you can't solve everything by killing a person."

Malik huffed, and his aura was showing how annoyed he was. Altaïr would have tried to calm him, but trying to work his way through everything was absorbing most of his attention.

"We're overlooking a simple solution," Maria said.

"And what is that?" Malik asked.

"We have a chance to neutralize this and other rumors about you two," Maria said. "Just get married and have a few children. My brother was married and had three children. That allowed everyone to pretend they didn't know his _bestfriend_ the potter down the way often had my brother as a visitor very late at night."

"People do tend to allow themselves to be fooled if the subject is uncomfortable to them," Naila said.

"Abbas will not be fooled," Malik said.

"No, but he can be dealt with more completely a little later," Maria said. "He's going to kick up a fuss to try and carry out his threat, and if he disappears or dies during that, it would be too obvious. Let things calm down, then we can deal with him."

Malik was radiating the colors of unhappiness. "This still feels like giving in to blackmail... only in a different way."

"It isn't," Maria said. "This is protecting yourselves now and for later. Abbas isn't the only one who would try to use your relationship against you. Just consider yourselves lucky you happen to know us two who wouldn't mind having husbands that rather sleep with each other than us." Maria pointed her thumb between herself and Naila. "In fact, by all means, never sleep with me if we can get away with it."

"It would still be a scandal for Altaïr to marry either of you," Malik said. Naila was a servant with a limp, which would not be ideal for the Grandmaster of the Order. Maria, being an outsider and ex-Templar, would also cause quite a stir.

"Better than being stoned to death or his head chopped off," Maria argued.

After a bit more discussion, which Altaïr listened to more than participated in, it was decided that there was no saving Altaïr from at least some controversy. At least, not without risking bringing another woman that might not be able to understand the uniqueness of their situation and have to have the truth hidden from her. None of them wanted that complication. Altaïr enjoyed the intimate but loyal group around him and didn't think he could deal with more people. Malik, however, could marry Naila without issue. While he was a Dai, he wasn't the leader of the entire Order and subject to quite as much scrutiny as Altaïr. Marrying a servant was less remarkable for him than it would be for the Grandmaster.

Late that night, lying against Malik's bare chest, Altaïr let his fingers roam the occasional exposed scar. "Are you sure you're alright with this arrangement?" Malik asked. "You didn't say much when we were discussing it."

Altaïr hummed a little bit without opening his eyes. His body was pleasantly throbbing from exertion. "Altaïr, please use words," Malik said, sounding mildly exasperated.

"It's what we must do," Altaïr said.

Malik grunted. "That doesn't mean it isn't asking a lot. I know you are fond of Maria, but you've never expressed much interest in marrying any woman," Malik said.

"I'm not interested," Altaïr said. "But if I have to... Maria is one of the best choices. I can protect her this way, and she doesn't want anything from me."

"Mm, I suppose. Just so long as you're sure," Malik said. There was a span of quiet where they just laid there with each other. "You know, you will have to lay with her at least a few times, right?"

"I have laid with women before," Altaïr said. He hadn't enjoyed it overly, but then before Malik, he hadn't enjoyed sleeping with anyone. "We will manage something."

So, with that decided, they all quickly married the next day so that it could be announced. Most Masyaf took note of the speed at which everything was done and the surprise of who was marrying. But were glad for two of their highest-ranked to be 'settling down and continuing their legacy' as many called it. Altaïr found it strange that others would care so much, but since they all seemed happy, he left the subject alone. Plus, it didn't really disrupt their group's dynamic all that much, so he didn't care if new labels he barely paid attention to were introduced. Malik was still his lover. Naila still ruled the fortress with her indomitable personality. Maria still flagrantly did what and trained who she wanted, and he still was Grandmaster though the job drove him crazy.

Abbas was bright red when he found out. He still tried to spread what he knew from his spying, but the information didn't seem to go very far. From what Naila said, the majority of those who had listened to Abbas had already supported him anyway. Maria said it was likely a fair number probably did believe what Abbas was spreading, but was willing to pretend they didn't because of the recent marriages.

Naila and Maria shared the rooms that were technically Malik's, while he stayed with Altaïr in the Grandmaster's chambers. Luckily, Masyaf was built with secret escapes all throughout it. Though there wasn't a passage directly between Malik's rooms and the Grandmaster's, there was still a path that could be taken to get there secretly. It was a bit annoying to continually have to go out of their way to travel to the proper rooms. Maria insisted it was better to be overcautious for a while to make sure that nobody gave any credence to what Abbas said.

Altaïr found it somewhat awkward trying to sleep with Maria. He would much rather be with Malik. But it also wasn't as if Altaïr didn't know what he was doing. And aside from being less enthused, they managed well enough. Everyone seemed to willfully forget the rumors about him and Malik when first Naila and then Maria became pregnant sometime after the marriages. Though it was a very strange idea for Altaïr, who had never really put any thought into children at all.

The next year, near the summer, Naila first gave birth to Tazim, and only a few days later, Maria had Darim even though he was several weeks early. At first, it looked as if Darim had been born _too_ soon and would die, but he managed to pull through with constant attention. Luckily for him, four adults were able to give him the care he needed. 

Maria went back to her teaching quickly after the births, and so left Darim with Altaïr most of the time. At first, this was impossibly stressful for him as he had no idea how to deal with, at that point, a toddler. Still, he slowly learned how to deal with Darim, and when he simply had to hand him off to Malik for everyone's sake. Naila brought Tazim regularly as the boys were brothers in all but blood and played with each other. As infants, they had even shared cradles frequently as sometimes Tazim slept better curled up with Darim. 

The boys even looked a bit alike, and their close ages had several people convinced that they were actually twins. However, the gossips would then debate among themselves who the parents of 'the twins' then were. Not helping the apparent confusion was how there was very little rhyme or reason behind who would have which child at what time. Sometimes Darim would scream for hours until Malik was brought in to hold him while other times, all he wanted was to be on Maria's hip outside. And Tazim was just as bad, his favorite adult seemingly switched day to day. There was nearly a week when he was nearing his first birthday when he would throw a tantrum the moment Altaïr tried to leave the room without him. Then, one day he promptly wanted only Malik. He then refused both men for nearly a month in favor of Naila.

Then about the time, the boys were almost eighteen months old, Altaïr got an unexpected visit from Rauf. Tazim was once again clinging to Altaïr over any other adult in his life. He was sitting in the Grandmaster's lap with Darim in Malik's arm as Malik rambled on about a situation brewing in Damascus. Rauf was, honestly, a welcome interruption. "Ah, Grandmaster... I didn't realize you were not alone. I can come back-"

"You seem bothered," Altaïr interrupted, eyeing the swirling colors of Rauf's aura. He didn't usually interrupt, but Rauf tended to be much less volatile colorwise than he was currently showing. "Has something happened?"

Rauf's swirling colors became even more tumultuous. "I... it is a somewhat private matter, Grandmaster."

Altaïr shifted the toddler in his lap. "Should I leave then?" Malik asked.

"It might be best..." Rauf said. "No offense meant, Dai."

Malik didn't seem bothered and simply went to Altaïr. In a single practiced motion, he deposited Darim in Altaïr's lap beside Tazim, who seemed delighted. "Malik!" Altaïr protested as he had to shift substantially to balance both of them. The boys were no longer that small, and Altaïr only had so much room in his lap.

"I have to go actually do work that you won't do," Malik replied. "You can at least keep your son entertained."

Altaïr would have argued, but Malik was already turning and leaving the office. With a huff, Altaïr took a moment to better situate the toddlers so that they weren't in danger of slipping off. Only when he was sure that he had the pair stable did Altaïr turn back to one of the few people he'd always thought of as a friend. "What was it you wanted to talk about, Rauf?"

"It is... about your wife..."

"... Maria? What about her?" Altaïr asked, unsure where this was going but not willing to gamble that it was anywhere good. The marriage between him and Maria mostly out of convenience, but she was still a friend.

Rauf sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I... this is difficult. At first, I wasn't going to say anything, but you deserve to know. About a week ago, I came home... and she was there."

"And?" Altaïr wasn't sure what that had to do with anything. Maria visited Rauf's house frequently. She was close to both Rauf and his wife, Ghada.

"And she was in bed with Ghada," Rauf blurted out.

Altaïr shifted the toddlers in his lap. "Ah." He had told Maria she was more than welcome to find comfort with others but warned her to be discreet. She had told Altaïr she was well aware of the position they were in and said she would be. Looking back with this new piece of information, Maria had been talking about Ghada a bit more than usual ever since Darim had been born. Altaïr hadn't thought much of it.

"I'm sorry," Rauf said.

Altaïr was now confused again. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I know it cannot be easy to hear such news about your wife. The mother of your child... at first I wasn't going to say anything, but keeping it a secret from you... I couldn't do that," Rauf said. His aura was still churning with a mix of so many colors it was dizzying. "And with another woman... I never wanted to be a part of betraying you." Altaïr thought that was a little dramatic as he didn't feel particularly betrayed, and even if he did, it wasn't Rauf that had done anything.

"What... what do you want me to say, Rauf?" Altaïr asked. He wasn't sure what to do with this bit of news. It might have been nice if Maria had given him a warning this was coming, but then again, he had told her that she didn't have to share anything about it she didn't want to. Altaïr was not going to complain about getting fewer details about something he didn't consider his business very much.

Rauf seemed to struggle. "I don't know... I just... you seem to be less... strict than most others. I was hoping that you would spare both of them any sort of repercussions."

"Oh." Well, since Altaïr wasn't planning on any repercussions, that was easy enough. And Altaïr supposed he could see why Rauf would be worried about something like that. "I don't have any intention of punishing either of them," Altaïr said. "I take it you aren't either?" Rauf could punish his own wife for such an indiscretion as well, after all. 

"Of course not!" Rauf said, horror filling his aura. "Ghada... I could never harm her."

Altaïr nodded. Rauf doted on his wife, and everyone knew it as he had done so since they'd been courting. "Well, do you want me to tell Maria to stop?" Altaïr asked. "Because I will if you want me to, but she has seemed happier these last few months, and I think now it might be because of Ghada. Everyone says she is delightful." Altaïr liked the woman the few times they'd met. However, he wasn't well acquainted enough to have much of a personal opinion beyond that.

Rauf seemed confused. "You don't seem angry... I thought you would be."

"Why would I be angry?" Altaïr asked. "Maria is a close friend and mother of my son, but I don't make her happy like a husband should. I have told her if she is happier with another, I don't mind." He was hardly one to talk about fidelity when he spent every night in Malik's embrace. "If she is happy with Ghada, I am glad she's found that... I don't know what you think about it, though..."

"This conversation is turning out nothing like I thought it would..." Rauf muttered. After a long pause, he shifted closer to Altaïr by a fraction, leaning against his desk as he did. "I adore my wife. And we are happy together and have many beautiful children. But... I also know that there's a part of her that I can't satisfy. She never voiced such things to me, but... now that I have seen her with Maria, I think I see what I've always thought she was holding back."

Altaïr hummed thoughtfully as he shifted the boys on his lap. Tazim was clinging to Darim, who was chewing on one of the laces on Altaïr's robes. "Well, if you do not mind them together, and I do not mind them together... I see no reason to do anything at all."

Rauf's aura showed surprise. "You're certain?"

"Of course," Altaïr said. "Although I will speak with Maria about being more careful."

"She said you would not mind, but... I didn't know if I should believe her," Rauf said. "And it felt wrong to not let you know anything..."

Altaïr shrugged. "Maria and I have had conversations about what we wanted and what we expected from our marriage. We came to an agreement quickly, and she is free to do as she wishes... within some minor boundaries."

"I am yet again in awe of you, Altaïr. You are a stronger man than I," Rauf said. "Thank you."

"There is nothing to thank me for, Rauf," Altaïr said. "I'm sorry you were so worried about my reaction for no reason."

Rauf got up from his seat and gave a bow before heading for the door. "Rauf," Altaïr called before he reached it. The other man paused and turned. "If you plan on joining them and they agree, I don't mind that either... but I would ask you to be careful. One of the few things I asked from Maria was to not have another man's child." Altaïr was worried that someone would discover the relationship if a child was brought into the mix. Since Maria said she wasn't interested in having another child, she'd agreed to it without issue.

Rauf's aura went bright pink with embarrassment. "I-I... that thought hadn't occurred to me at all!" he sputtered although black specks were filling the pink.

Altaïr tilted his head as he examined the black spaces. "I think you did. But, what the three of you do is for you to work out," he said. Rauf sputtered and stumbled over a few more denials before hurrying out of the office. Altaïr watched him go as he bounced his leg to make Tazim giggle. "He seems highly stressed," Altaïr said to the boys even though they couldn't understand him.

When Malik finally returned, Altaïr told him what he and Rauf spoke about, and Malik snorted. "I should have seen that coming," Malik said as he obligingly took Tazim from Altaïr. "She's been going to their home at least twice a week. She should have been more careful, though. Especially with Abbas still lingering around..."

Malik was still sour about Abbas, but with everything involved with the pregnancy of Naila and Maria and then the boys being born, they simply hadn't had time to deal with the man. Especially since he'd grown quiet again. "You know he's only waiting for a chance to try and ruin everything again," Malik said. "He tried to blackmail you. And me."

"We will deal with him soon, Malik. I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on a side story where Abbas is spying on Malik and Altair and being all pervy but that's not done yet... I'll put a note up whenever it is I guess...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mm, horrible Abbas slinging out slurs and such in this chapter! Be aware!
> 
> Oh, also I posted up a oneshot of Abbas spying on our loverboys here. It's from his POV though so it might not be to everyone's taste. Just thought I'd mention it if any of you missed it going up and were interested.

Crusaders continued to be a problem all throughout the Holy Lands even as the years passed. They weren't all like Robert had been. Some really did seem to think they were helping -whether or not they were- while others were clearly just in it for the power and wealth. There were also spreading rumors of problems elsewhere in the world. Altaïr didn't think he had to insert himself into those situations, but some of the other branches of the Order (that he had not even been aware of really until he became Grandmaster) were struggling. Hopefully, it would not reach a point of no return.

The stress was not helping Altaïr in the least. Of course, he was also still trying to figure out the Piece of Eden. Much to Malik and the others' dismay. Studying the orb always gave Altaïr a crippling migraine. Though he hadn't said anything, Altaïr could almost swear that his eyesight darkened a fraction more after looking at the glowing images. Malik was constantly telling Altaïr to lock away the Apple and let it collect dust. Unfortunately, Altaïr didn't feel like he could do that.

Using the Piece of Eden was too dangerous, quite obviously, but leaving it sitting around as a mystery that nobody could destroy seemed equally unwise. Altaïr started recording the things he saw when he peered into the Piece of Eden for later use. He had never even imagined all the bizarre ideas that had been shared with him via the glowing lines of light spiraling out of the golden orb. Altaïr hadn't revealed too much of the information he had gotten. He didn't entirely trust it, and though he could follow the instructions, he didn't have a full understanding of the things he saw. Trying to use some new creation without knowing how it works struck Altaïr as a particularly stupid thing to do, so he was cautious. Perhaps overly so, but he'd rather be that than dead.

The boys were growing quickly. Too much so for Altaïr, who swore he turned around one day, and they went from babies in his arms to running through the fortress as they played and chased each other. Altaïr didn't have as much time to devote to them as he wished he did. Still, he was at least glad that Malik, Maria, and Naila could give the boys as much attention as they needed. 

Especially since Altaïr had a feeling that Darim was a bit like he was. The boy refused to make eye contact with anyone and disliked whoever Altaïr saw as red or black in his strange colored vision. Darim had been slow to start talking and tended to let Tazim naturally grab more attention. Altaïr understood Darim better than Tazim, so at least his son had someone he could come to for what he needed. Altaïr knew from his own childhood how very important having an adult give that support was. Sometimes Darim just needed a quiet space to be in, and Altaïr could often grant him that while nobody else could. Especially while Altaïr was fighting his own head.

Altaïr would lay back on his bed, and Darim would tuck himself against his father's side and trace the seams of Altaïr's robes repeatedly. Altaïr let him and brushed his son's hair back in the way that only _he_ was allowed to do. Apparently, none of the others did it the right way. Altaïr tried to not feel unbearably happy about it but failed. Sometimes Tazim would join them and sprawl out on Altaïr's other side to either nap or practice his reading. Altaïr could even help him with harder words if Tazim took the time to spell them out loud.

Altaïr had never thought much about being a father. It had never been a goal or even much of a desire, but he found moments, where both boys were cuddled up with him and relaxing, were most enjoyable. That was why when the boys were five, and Naila wanted more children, Altaïr was actually a little excited. Despite the efforts to create another child taking Malik out of their bed. Altaïr usually didn't sleep well without Malik after so long of having the comfort of his presence, and so he needed to use his smoke to get rest. He didn't like using the drugs more often, but tossing and turning all night wasn't pleasant either. At least it had the added benefit of relieving any headaches he might have gained throughout the day.

"'Abi?"

Altaïr opened his eyes and blinked the darkness away. He was still quite groggy from the painkillers he had taken, but the small shimmering forms of his sons were entirely unmistakable to him. "Boys?" Altaïr wasn't certain what time it was, but judging by when Altaïr himself had gone to bed, it was definitely past the time they should both be asleep.

"Darim had a bad dream," Tazim said.

Black speckled Tazim's aura. "... Darim had a bad dream, or you had a bad dream?" Altaïr asked muzzily.

"'Abi! Don't use your eyes on me," Tazim complained -as he often did when caught in a fib. There was a pause where he picked at his sleeve. Darim was silent behind him, hanging onto the bottom edge of Tazim's shirt. "... I had a bad dream," Tazim muttered. "But Darim didn't want to be in the nursery alone." There were no black spots from that statement, and Darim gave the slightest nod of his head behind Tazim's shoulder.

Altaïr hummed and lifted the covers up. The boys took the silent invitation and crawled into bed. There were a few minutes of tussling and jostling as both tried to fit into the space before they settled. A little shoving still took place, and Altaïr shushed them both as he wrapped his arm around them. "Quiet. It's time to sleep," Altaïr said as he closed his eyes again.

"But, 'abi-"

"Shh," Altaïr said, running his hands across Tazim's head. "It is late. Sleep."

The boys still shifted a little and whispered at each other but quieted again in Altaïr's arms after a few minutes. Altaïr smiled as he listened to his boys, slowly fall back asleep. They really were sweet when they weren't running through the fortress, causing all sorts of mayhem. Unfortunately, not causing mischief was a rarity for them. If Naila dragged them both in front of Altaïr one more time for being a pair of terrors, it might cause Altaïr to pull all of his hair out.

Altaïr allowed the drugs in his system to drag him back towards sleep. Darim half-rolled, and his foot jabbed Altaïr in the side. With a slight sigh, Altaïr adjusted all three of them, so hopefully, he'd get kicked less. Normally, if the boys came to Altaïr and Malik's bed at night, Malik was the one that tended to get prodded and jabbed. But, at least the boys weren't so strong as to do any real harm. Tazim grabbed a fistful of the loose shirt that Altaïr had worn to bed that night without waking up.

Sometime later, Altaïr woke when he felt something was off. He opened his eyes but didn't spot anything in the dark, aside from his boys still curled up against his chest. He mentally cursed his eyes for being so useless in the dark, even while pushing himself up. Tazim still had his shirt hostage, so he spared a brief moment to carefully undo his son's grip. Altaïr could see that the door was still closed if he squinted, but the passage against the wall was open. The boys must have come through that way and left it open. 

That thought didn't seem right, and he reached over to where his sword was sitting by the bed. He never had it far from him while he was sleeping, although, over the years, he had relaxed in the number of weapons he kept nearby. Before his finger could brush the handle of his sword, a sharp line of metal touched his neck's skin. "Don't."

Altaïr froze and took stock of the situation. The biggest concern for him was the boys sleeping beside him. "... Abbas." He was almost positive that was who was standing behind him and holding the sword.

" _Grandmaster_."

Well, it was always good to be proven right, he supposed. "How did you know about the passage?"

"Is that really what's most important right now?" Abbas asked. "It's annoying you woke up. The drugs were supposed to keep you unconscious until morning."

Altaïr narrowed his eyes. Drugs? He would have noticed if his food or drink had been tainted. He was far too familiar with the taste of drugged or poisoned meals and drinks. So how..? Altaïr glanced to the side where the hooka he'd used after dinner sat. He'd had a brief thought that the smoke had a different aftertaste than usual, but the painkillers had set in quickly, and he hadn't worried. "... you added something to my smoke."

"Surprisingly simple to do, actually," Abbas said. "It isn't as if you lock it away." He would definitely have to change that in the future. "Now, quietly, come with me."

Altaïr wasn't remotely inclined to do that. Abbas waited only a moment and pressed a little harder with his sword, nicking the skin of Altaïr's neck. "Are you sure you wish to test me, _Grandmaster_ , with your son and his friend there right beside you?" Abbas asked.

Altaïr's eyes flicked down to the boys and noted with some relief that their auras still were calm. They hadn't woken up. "You threaten children now, Abbas?" Altaïr asked.

"I don't recall threatening children," Abbas said. "Although I don't imagine it'll be all that healthy for them to wake up sleeping beside a headless corpse." Entirely unbidden, Altaïr recalls suddenly, and with frightful clarity the night that he woke up to see his first death. Abbas' own father. The shocking amount of blood spurting forth with horrifying speed. That night still haunted Altaïr's dreams. Altaïr was not afraid of his own death, but scarring his sons even worse than he was was unacceptable.

Slowly, Altaïr shifted to the edge of the bed. He didn't want to wake Darim or Tazim and kept an eye on their contented colors as he moved. As he straightened to his full height, he felt the palm against his back's right side. The familiar hard press of the gauntlet that hid a blade was there as well. "Let's go, or I'll stab you in the liver," Abbas said with a nudge. "A slow and unpleasant way to go."

"I'm aware," Altaïr said. He had seen all sorts of death at this stage in his life and caused most of them as well. Stabbing one in the liver wasn't exactly approved as an assassination method as it was so slow and messy, but that didn't stop him from having done it on occasion. Altaïr stepped toward the still open passageway. Luckily he had been in his rooms long enough by this point that he didn't really need to see to know where he was going.

Abbas seemed to be jumpy, which Altaïr supposed was understandable considering what he was currently doing. The secret passageways were pitch black, and with nobody in front of him, Altaïr was dependant solely on his memory of how long each tunnel was. That was made quite a bit more difficult when Abbas directed Altaïr down a side tunnel he hadn't even been aware of, much less memorized. He wondered if anyone but Abbas knew about it. 

Altaïr slowed his pace, not wanting to run into a wall or whatever exit there might be. "What is your plan here, Abbas?" Altaïr asked. "Because I'm not just going to give you back your prior rank or whatever you think this will achieve." Altaïr remained very aware of the sword against the side of his neck, and the hidden blade pressed to his back, guiding him forward. The moment Abbas loosened either of them, Altaïr would have his opening. He was most concerned about the blade to his neck as that would be harder to survive than a stab to his middle, but neither would be pleasant.

"This isn't about that," Abbas said venomously.

"Then what is it about?"

"Decency," Abbas said.

Altaïr was quite confused about that. "Decency?" he echoed. "What decency exactly?"

"You taint our entire Order with your... habits. I won't stand for it any longer," Abbas said. "You might have somehow gotten the others to look the other way with your sham wedding to the Templar Woman, but I refuse to."

Altaïr processed what Abbas said for a second. "All of this because I prefer to sleep with Malik?" he asked. "That seems petty. Even for you."

"No! Not just that," Abbas said, digging his palm and the gauntlet with his hidden blade on it harder into Altaïr's back. "You stole the entire order from Al Mualim and now you horde the treasure, and it's knowledge while constantly indulging in your perverse pleasures."

"The orb is not some toy anyone can play with," Altaïr said. "You should know after your last encounter with it."

"I know much after my last 'encounter' as you put it," Abbas said. "And that's why I know you can't be allowed to lead us. You're not fit."

"And, of course, you are," Altaïr said as he strained his eyes to try and see where this hidden passage was leading. Most didn't go so far, and Altaïr felt as if he might have lost his relative position to the rest of the fortress while in the dark.

"At least I don't disgrace myself," Abbas said harshly. "Bending over for another man..."

Altaïr rolled his eyes. "You seem quite concerned about that considering it's not remotely your business."

"It is a betrayal!"

"Whom I decide to have sex with in no way changes my ability to recognize tyranny and kill those who would impose it on others," Altaïr said. "I can bed a hundred men and still be able to slit throats."

"That isn't the point," Abbas said.

"Isn't it?" Altaïr asked.

Suddenly, Abbas snarled and grabbed hold of Altaïr's shoulder. He barely had time to shift so as to not gash his neck open as he was pushed into the wall. His back hit hard enough to cause the air to leave Altaïr's lungs, but he ignored that and brought up his arm to catch hold of the sword as it pressed to his neck. The sharpened steel sliced deep into Altaïr's palm, but he ignored that. "The point is that we cannot be expected to follow a man who-who lets a cripple _defile_ him in such a way!" Abbas hissed.

Altaïr watched the colors swirl through Abbas' features, trying to decipher the unpleasant mix as best he could. Abbas continued to spit out insults, but Altaïr barely listened to that. There were so many colors that Altaïr had not been expecting to see -like purple and green. "You're jealous," Altaïr realized. 

Abbas abruptly shut up, but only for a moment. "Wha-No, I'm not!"

"You are," Altaïr said, more confident as he parsed out the different colors. "What are you so jealous about?"

"Who would be jealous?" Abbas asked, pushing harder and forcing Altaïr to reach up with his free hand to stop the sword from cutting him any worse. "You make my stomach turn nothing more!"

Altaïr watched the black streak through Abbas. Lies. Such definite lies. "You're lying," Altaïr said. Abbas went to strike, and Altaïr had to let go of the man's sword arm to grab the fist coming for his face. The wall against his back was rough and uncomfortable to be pressed against, but it did provide excellent leverage to hold Abbas' attack back. "Are you jealous of my position... or what I do with Malik?"

"You stole your so-called position, and never would I be jealous of what you two perverts do!" Abbas said. "You were supposed to be the best of us, Altaïr! And instead, you are the most disappointing! The most depraved! That is why you cannot be allowed to continue with this mockery!"

Altaïr shifted and twisted his arms, using his grip of Abbas' sword and fist to control the other man's through the motion. Abbas was quickly slammed up against the wall Altaïr had just been pinned to with both arms caught behind his back. Abbas cursed and struggled, but Altaïr just twisted his grip. The sword clattered to the ground between them as Altaïr kicked Abbas' knee into the wall, sending the man further down it.

"All you had to do was work hard and leave my family and me alone, Abbas," Altaïr said.

Abbas snarled and jerked his entire body back suddenly. Altaïr's arms were some protection but not quite enough. Abbas' shoulder clipped Altaïr's groin, and pain shot through his body. His grip loosened a little, but that was enough for Abbas to turn as they both hit the ground. Faster than Altaïr could get himself to react, Abbas was on top of him, and his fist came down hard. Altaïr both felt and heard his nose _crack_ as he brought his own arms up to catch the second punch headed for his face.

"You slut! How could you give yourself to someone like him?!" Abbas' voice echoed through the stone passage as he shouted. Altaïr barely listened to the insults or the other vitriol that Abbas spat out as he flailed. Altaïr had a hard time placing where the fists actually were with his head spinning but managed to fend off the attack and land a few punches of his own into Abbas' ribs.

Blood, hot and thick, was dripping down the back of Altaïr's throat and the front of his face as he struggled. Abbas' fist slammed into Altaïr's gut, and white-hot pain ripped through him. Altaïr caught Abbas' wrist and used all his strength to keep Abbas from pulling back. Blood was already welling up from around the blade deep in his abdomen to stain his shirt. Abbas had frozen, and shock flooded his aura. As if he had forgotten that he had a deadly blade attached to his arm.

Abbas tried to pull his arm back, but Altaïr kept it still with all his strength. He'd bleed more and faster if the blade was removed. "Let me go," Abbas said. He tugged, but Altaïr was stronger. "Altaïr, let my hand go!"

"No."

The shock was melting into other emotions, almost as jumbled as the first headache-inducing mixture had been. Still shock, but fear, and sadness? Altaïr was confused. What in the world was going on? Abbas, unlike most people, had only gotten more impossible to understand as Altaïr saw his emotions.

"Altaïr! Release me! This is all your fault!" Abbas shouted as he struggled to pull his now bloody hand free.

"It's my fault? You stabbed me!" Altaïr snapped as he tried not to gag on his own blood. It was unpleasant, dripping down the back of his throat. He could feel the blade throbbing in his gut but pushed that to the back of his mind. Abbas' aura was growing more panicked the longer he failed to pull his hand free.

"Yes!" Abbas snarled. "Of course, this is your fault! All of this is! Haven't you been listening, you utter idiot?!"

Altaïr tightened his grip on Abbas' wrist, causing the man to cry out in pain as his bones ground together. "If you had only listened, none of this would have happened! But no! You had to be Al Mualim's favorite! So damned _perfect_! I hated it! I hate you!"

There was so much black in his aura it almost blocked out the other colors, but Altaïr had gotten very good at picking out even the faintest traces of emotions. "... if you hate me so much, Abbas..." Altaïr fought against the return of his gag reflex. "Then why do you feel so much lust when you look at me?" There was very clearly dark purple mixed with the black.

Shock flooded the other man before being replaced by bright red anger. "That's a filthy lie! How disgusting!" The black was swirling with the red, but the purple hadn't died.

"I'm not lying, Abbas, and you know it," Altaïr said as his shirt stuck to even more of his skin due to blood and sweat. Abbas suddenly changed tactics and pushed down. Altaïr grunted as the blade dug deeper into his abdomen. 

"Shut up, Altaïr! I will not listen to your filth!"

Altaïr tightened his grip, causing Abbas to hiss and try to pry Altaïr's fingers off. The Grandmaster grabbed Abbas' other hand and, with a painful lurch, flipped them both so that Abbas was on the ground. Altaïr slammed Abbas' free hand to the ground hard. "You threaten my sons to bring me down here, you insult me, and stab me in the stomach. Do not try to kill me and then lie to my face about why!"

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Altaïr felt the pain in his stomach growing and, despite his best efforts, couldn't stop the bloody cough from escaping. Abbas' colors were like a maelstrom within him. "Why him?" Abbas suddenly shouted.

Altaïr was caught somewhat off-guard. "What?"

"Malik! Why pick him? He never even liked you, and now you're letting him fuck you?" Abbas demanded. "Why would you subject yourself to _him_? What is it? Guilt? Because of Kadar? That is no reason to spread your legs for such a-a-a _bastard_ as him!"

Altaïr punched Abbas in the mouth before he could really consider the action fully. He didn't regret it. "You have no right to question my relationships, Abbas," Altaïr said. "Malik is a better man than you'll ever be."

Abbas lashed out, but Altaïr caught the fist before it could connect. "He's ruined you!" Abbas hissed.

"Then I am glad to be ruined," Altaïr snapped back.

"How can you say that?" Abbas demanded. "You were the best of us! The best swordsman! The best assassin! The best everything! And you just let him... _do that_."

Altaïr narrowed his eyes. "Of course I did," he said evenly. "I love him."

"You... you can't!" Abbas snarled. His aura was rife with so many colors that clashed painfully in Altaïr's vision.

"I can love whomever I choose to love, Abbas. It is no business of yours," Altaïr said.

Abbas, in a show of strength that Altaïr hadn't expected, launched himself from the floor. They both went tumbling, and the blood over both their hands meant that Altaïr couldn't quite keep his grip. He bit back the gasp as the hidden blade slid back out of his middle. Altaïr blocked the second stab with his arm, getting a deep slice across his forearm instead.

Altaïr threw his elbow up, smashing it into Abbas' chin. He grunted, and Altaïr quickly twisted the arm with the hidden blade further away from him. Altaïr knew there was a sword somewhere nearby, but he had no idea where it had landed and so lashed out with his fist, aiming right for the throat. It was easy to hit a glowing target in the dark, and Abbas fell back to the ground, struggling to breathe properly.

Altaïr rolled away to get to his feet, ignoring the pain in his gut from the stab wound. He would be bleeding freely now, and he would have to end this quickly. "I don't understand you, Abbas," he said as he watched the fractious aura of colors on the ground. "I don't know what you thought that bringing me down here would accomplish." The hate, lust, anger, deception, envy, and pain were all competing in Abbas' aura. It was far too much for Altaïr to parse out.

Abbas wheezed and coughed. "You... of course... s-stupid..."

Altaïr frowned. "What is stupid?"

"You," Abbas spat before hacking yet again. Altaïr was somewhat impressed he was still talking with how his throat had to be swelling up from the punch it had received. "You really-really don't... have any clue... do you?" he said between coughs and gasps.

In the dark, Altaïr could see Abbas' glowing arm reach out. The gentle scrape of metal across stone was the only real warning he had, and as Abbas lunged with his sword, Altaïr moved. It was a move he'd practiced and perfected both with and without sight. A grab and twist and Abbas' sword was Altaïr's instead. 

_Good. Then followthrough, Altaïr. Use your momentum and cut deep. Fast. Never let them back up._

Al Mualim's instructions whispered through his head, and the blade of the sword jerked as Altaïr buried it deep into Abbas' ribcage. Abbas let out a strange noise that sounded almost more surprised than pained. Altaïr couldn't bring himself to look down but let go of the sword. When Abbas fell back down, it was with a loud thud and a gurgle. His lung had been sliced deeply as well as several major arteries.

His wet, choking noises faded after only a moment. Altaïr only then glanced down and saw the last bits of color starting to dissipate. The last color he saw though took him aback. "Abb-" the world went dark before Altaïr could even finish his name. Not that Altaïr had any clue what he had been about to say. He had been too surprised by the color he'd seen once all the others faded away.

He wasn't even sure if what he'd seen was correct. It didn't feel as if it could be. Abbas had definitely felt hatred towards him. Altaïr had seen that clearly. So then... so then why was it not hatred he felt in the last few beats of his heart? Altaïr didn't understand, and no matter how he wracked his brain, none of it would slot into place. 

Had Abbas always felt that? If so... then nothing he'd ever done really made sense. Not to Altaïr anyway. Abbas hating him made sense. If everything he did was at least motivated by loathing, then it was logical, in its own way.

Altaïr wasn't sure how long he stood there, stunned, and trying to reason through what he'd seen without any real progress. But, eventually, he realized he had to get his wounds treated. Altaïr put a shaking and cold hand to the wound in his stomach and blindly reached out for the wall with his other. He found it quickly, but in the fight and subsequent time processing what had happened, he'd lost track of where exactly they'd come from. Knowing he needed medical attention and that the passage had to come out somewhere no matter which of the two directions he picked, Altaïr started walking. 

He kept his hand on the wall to guide himself and make sure he didn't fall over onto his face. Altaïr quickly realized he'd lost a large amount of blood. He was chilled, and his feet felt far too heavy. Especially since he didn't have on any shoes. But stopping would definitely mean death. Altaïr didn't know which passage they were in, but he wasn't willing to assume that Malik would immediately think to search them all when he knew Altaïr only used the few he had memorized.

Altaïr wondered how much time had passed since he'd woken up feeling something was wrong. Hopefully, long enough for Tazim to go get Malik or Maria. Altaïr pushed harder into the bleeding hole in his gut. It hurt immensely, but he was still bleeding too much for comfort, and he needed to hold out until he reached an end to this corridor at the very least.

He had been counting the steps as Abbas had led him down this passage. They had gone five-hundred and three before the confrontation. So, if he had picked the correct direction, that was how many until he reached a fork with a passage he _did_ know.

Altaïr didn't reach five-hundred steps. He didn't even reach four hundred. At three hundred and ninety-six, he came across a dead end. He'd gone the wrong way. But, there had to be an exit. He had to search with his free hand for any sort of lever that might open a secret door. Altaïr almost missed it, but his eyes barely caught a glimmer of gold from the very lower corner.

Reaching down, he found a small button. Pressing it in made a click sound, and the wall shifted ever-so-slightly. Altaïr used his shoulder to push it open fully, and when he stepped out, he realized he was outside. The sun was only starting to light up the sky, but Altaïr was tucked in a small alcove of rock well sheltered and still deep in shadow.

Altaïr stepped further out of the passage entrance to try and place where exactly he was. Throughout his life, Altaïr had explored the lands around the fortress and village quite thoroughly. Though he hadn't taken the time to re-explore as much with his new form of vision, he was sure he'd be able to recognize where he was. The sun was still rising, and Altaïr soaked up every new detail that he possibly could.

A long look around him and Altaïr realized finally that he was by the lake that Altaïr had once refused to take swimming lessons in. That had been after several hours of riding on horseback because the mountain trails they'd been forced to take had wound and meandered through the landscape. So, the fastest way to medical help was still going back the way he'd come. 

The thought of walking all the way back was daunting. Each step was already such an effort. But, he knew it wouldn't become less of one if he didn't go back. He did kneel down beside the lake and rinse the sweat off his face and neck and take a long drink. It would definitely not be enough to replenish the blood he lost, but it felt so good on his parched throat.

Altaïr gathered himself for the seemingly monumental task of getting back. The effort of straightening made him stumble, and it was only by grabbing hold of a nearby rock that he didn't fall flat on his face. Black spots were interfering with his already damaged sight. Altaïr didn't know if he'd make it nine hundred steps back. It seemed so far.

Taking a breath, Altaïr started walking. He hadn't taken more than three when he heard something from inside the passage. Blinking to clear his vision, he saw a familiar glow steadily growing larger. "Malik."

"Altaïr!" Malik was there faster than Altaïr thought he should be, but he was glad for that. "... Altaïr, what has he done to you?"

"I've bled quite a lot..."

"I can see that, Novice!" Malik snapped. Altaïr might have been more offended if he didn't see the stark worry and fear in his aura. Malik took the arm that Altaïr wasn't using to press against the stab wound and hooked it around his own neck. "We need to get you to the healers."

Altaïr didn't say anything but shuffled along with Malik's help. He no longer worried about navigating and just focused on moving. Malik was cursing Abbas and grumbling about how Altaïr should have killed him long ago. Altaïr was barely listening to it.

"How did you find me?" Altaïr finally asked after a hundred and ten steps.

"When I got back to bed this morning, you were gone. Nobody had seen you in the halls, so you had to have gone into the passages. So, I split the tunnels with Naila. When I found Abbas' body, I knew you had to be somewhere close," Malik said. "... the boys are a mess."

Altaïr grimaced. "... they were already there when Abbas came in."

"I figured," Malik said. "You did the right thing, I'm not upset. Just warning you, they might cling a bit..."

"That's fine."

Malik snorted but didn't point out that Altaïr had a definite limit to how much clinging he'd allow their sons to do before it became too much for him. Altaïr would indulge them as long as he could manage. "We should hurry. You're too heavy to lug around," Malik complained. Altaïr nodded and refocused his efforts into moving his feet and staying upright. He had lost count of the steps, but Malik would keep them on track.

Altaïr wasn't even certain when they left the tunnels. By the time he felt himself being laid out and his wound being exposed, he was hanging onto consciousness by the thinnest of threads. But just before he lost that last bit of wakefulness, he heard a familiar whisper, "Come back to me, and I'll give you another, Altaïr." The corner of his mouth lifted at the promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like writing fight scenes... I hope that one between Altair and Abbas wasn't totally horrid.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Altair will play the part of boy oblivious to others crushing on him HARD!

_"Altaïr... Altaïr!"_

_Altaïr opened his eyes and saw the familiar face of Abbas peering at him through the dark. He frowned. It was late, and Altaïr had been not feeling very well from another wine test. "What, Abbas?"_

_"Move over," Abbas said with a slight shove to Altaïr's shoulder._

_Altaïr huffed but shifted over under the covers. He was too tired to bother arguing about sharing the bed. Abbas crawled in beside the other boy and took a moment to settle. "What is it, Abbas? Did you have another nightmare?"_

_"Shut up. I don't have nightmares," Abbas grumbled. "I was just cold."_

_Altaïr was almost sure that was a lie. It wasn't getting that chilly at night, and Abbas had two blankets compared to Altaïr's one. Altaïr was perfectly comfortable, so he couldn't imagine Abbas being cold. But Abbas said that every time he crawled into bed with Altaïr no matter what, so he supposed it meant something that Altaïr didn't understand._

_Abbas pressed close to Altaïr to the point of discomfort, but Altaïr knew better than to complain. Grandmaster always said to not complain as much. Besides, the drugged wine he'd had earlier made him just want to sleep rather than anything else. Altaïr could feel Abbas' breath against his neck, and it wasn't pleasant. It was hot and made his skin feel damp. Still, Altaïr just closed his eyes and attempted to go back to sleep despite that._

_Altaïr drifted off without much trouble, only vaguely aware of Abbas still breathing on him and the unpleasant heat of the boy's palms against his lower back. Abbas always had to get so close... but the fight for more space between them never seemed to be one Altaïr won._

* * *

_"Abbas?"_

_Abbas looked up from the book he was reading while lounging across his bed on the left side of the room. "Hmm?"_

_"Have you seen the shirt I wore yesterday?" Altaïr asked as he glanced under his own bed. He was usually very neat -Grandmaster insisted on tidiness- but he did occasionally lose bits and pieces of his clothing. "I was going to repair that tear from practice, but I can't find it."_

_Abbas scowled darkly and ducked more behind his book so that Altaïr couldn't see him clearly. "Why would I know where your shirt is?"_

_Altaïr didn't think much of the strange reaction. "The last time one of my shirts went missing, it ended up under your bed is all," Altaïr said. Altaïr still didn't know how it had gotten under Abbas' bed as Altaïr never crossed the invisible line splitting their shared room in half. But he'd spotted it there several weeks after it had first gone missing and Abbas had kindly returned it -even volunteering to wash it first- which Altaïr had greatly appreciated._

_"Well, I don't know where your dirty clothes end up, Altaïr. Keep better track of your things," Abbas said, still buried deep in his book._

_"Of course," Altaïr said. He hadn't meant to imply it was Abbas' job to know where any of Altaïr's things were. He'd simply been asking. But Abbas was right; Altaïr would do better about not losing things from then on._

* * *

_"That's not true!"_

_"It is," Altaïr said, not looking up from the blade he was sharpening._

_Abbas scoffed and flopped back across his bed. "Men cannot have sex with other men. They have the same bits," he said._

_Altaïr shrugged. He wasn't entirely sure how they'd gotten onto this conversation topic. They had started with discussing bathhouses, and now they were talking about sex, but then Altaïr had never been the best with conversations, so maybe he'd missed an obvious clue when the shift occurred. "I saw it in a brothel I followed a target to," he said. "The man asked the other man for his time. Then the one man bent over, and the other used oils and put himself inside the other."_

_There was a span of silence longer than Altaïr had anticipated, and he looked over to see Abbas staring at him with his mouth open, and his face was bright red. That wasn't surprising. It was an embarrassing thing to think about, after all. "... you're kidding," Abbas finally said as he shifted how he was sitting._

_"No," Altaïr denied. "That really is what they did," Altaïr said. "I stole the note I was after when their pants were down."_

_"That's..." Abbas cleared his throat and shook his head hard. "That's filthy. Who would ever do something like that?"_

_Altaïr shrugged again. "Sex, in general, is filthy from what I've seen." And what he'd had personally. Every man had left a mess behind him even when they hadn't used Altaïr's backside and just wanted his mouth or hand._

_"But... but that's..." Abbas broke off and shook his head again. "How disgusting..." he muttered. "You shouldn't spread around that you've seen that sort of depravity, Altaïr. The others might get the wrong idea."_

_"The wrong idea?" Altaïr echoed in confusion._

_"Yes," Abbas said firmly. "You don't want people thinking that you're... like **that**." Altaïr was still a bit confused. What did Abbas mean by 'like that' anyway? Abbas let out a huge sigh. "It's not only unnatural; it's illegal," he said._

_That felt... unpleasant to hear. Altaïr had done that sort of thing many times to achieve his goals. It being illegal wasn't much of a problem -they were assassins after all- but the word 'unnatural' was not something he liked. He was already considered strange; he didn't want to be thought of as unnatural too. "Oh. Well... everything is permitted," Altaïr said, trying to not show how awkward he felt._

_Abbas' face went even redder. "That's not a good enough excuse, Altaïr!"_

_Altaïr wasn't sure what, if anything, he could say to that. Luckily, after several minutes of protracted silence, Abbas changed topics. Altaïr allowed his roommate to ramble on as he turned his focus back to sharpening his blade._

* * *

_His throat was still sore from where Abbas had tried to strangle him, but Altaïr went up to his now ex-roommate anyway. "Abbas," he said._

_Abbas stopped and looked up to glare at Altaïr with so much fire it was a wonder there was no ash in the air. "Altaïr."_

_"I'm sorry for what I said," Altaïr said. Al Mualim had been clear that Altaïr needed to apologize for the incident in the training ring. That Altaïr shouldn't have said anything about what had happened to Abbas' father for just this reason. "I shouldn't have said what I did." It had been true, but that, Al Mualim said, was not the point. Altaïr did not know what the point was but didn't think it was wise to press his luck with more questions right now._

_Abbas straightened from where he had been securing a rope for a nearby awning. His black eye was still swollen but not as badly as it had been the day before. "No, you shouldn't have," Abbas said. "Lying about my father... I thought better of you, Altaïr."_

_Altaïr said nothing in response to that. He wouldn't admit to lying when he didn't, and Abbas wouldn't want to hear that it had been true. The only wise choice, therefore, was nothing at all. Abbas scoffed. "You think just because Al Mualim favors you, you can do whatever you like. You're so damned arrogant! I don't accept your apology! In fact, come near me again, and I'll finish what I started!"_

_A few nearby novices paused and stared at Abbas' outburst. Altaïr felt uncomfortable with so many people looking their way but did his best to not reveal that. "Get lost, Altaïr," Abbas snarled._

_There didn't seem to be any point in continuing the conversation, so Altaïr just inclined his head and turned to leave. He supposed Al Mualim had been right that Abbas wasn't ready to hear the truth. Altaïr had put his own discomfort of keeping the secret above Abbas,' and he shouldn't have done that. "Degenerate," Abbas grumbled._

_Altaïr stopped._

_Insults were not worth fighting over, and yet that made Altaïr want to punch Abbas all over again. But, Al Mualim would punish him if he got into another fight. So, Altaïr pushed down his reaction and continued walking. He heard Abbas scoff behind him, but Altaïr refused to turn around and start another argument._

* * *

_Altaïr was surprised to see Abbas in Acre. As far as he knew, the other assassin had been in Damascus. Abbas came out of the pleasure house just down the street, although Altaïr didn't think he looked all that much happier or relaxed than usual. Not that Altaïr was the best judge of such things. Perhaps he really was incredibly happy, and Altaïr just couldn't tell._

_Abbas clearly spotted Altaïr, but since Altaïr was busy searching for his target on the street, he didn't bother to move. Altaïr was here on legitimate business, after all. Abbas looked to just be indulging his lust._

_Abbas climbed up the side of the building Altaïr was perched on. "What are you doing here?" he asked._

_"I have a target," Altaïr said as he scanned the crowd again. His information was very specific that the merchant he was hunting would pass through here within the next hour or so._

_Abbas scoffed. "Of course you do."_

_Altaïr glanced over at Abbas for just a moment. Why else would he have left Masyaf? He didn't do so for his own enjoyment. Altaïr turned his attention back to what he was doing, fingering the sash around his waist absently. Abbas waited another moment before sighing. "You're as social as you always were."_

_"What is there to be social about?" Altaïr asked. Abbas had made it clear over the years that their friendship no longer existed._

_"Still so arrogant," Abbas said._

_Altaïr still had no idea how he was considered arrogant just by doing what he was told, but everyone always called him that. He was starting to think he didn't actually know what that word meant. "Is there a reason you're here?" Altaïr asked. "Other than buying time with prostitutes?"_

_"Like you're one to talk," Abbas said in a nasty tone. "I've seen you go into plenty of whore houses."_

_Altaïr glanced at Abbas for another brief moment. Why was Abbas even noticing whether or not Altaïr went into such places? "I follow my targets. They like pleasure houses," he said. It really was that simple, even though Abbas didn't seem to believe it._

_"Why can't you be more like you were when we were kids?" Abbas asked suddenly._

_"What do you mean?" Altaïr didn't think he'd changed very much at all. Except physically._

_"Ever since Al Mualim picked you to be his chosen disciple, you've only gotten more and more pompous!" Abbas said. "You're spoiled and arrogant with the Master's attention!"_

_Altaïr straightened to his full height and turned to Abbas since he seemed to want to have this argument right now. "You call me arrogant and spoiled. Yet I do not delay my returns to visit houses of the flesh and indulge myself. I kill my target and return. As I am meant to do."_

_"I don't know what I ever saw in you," Abbas said. Altaïr had no idea what that meant and didn't really have a chance to ask as Abbas whipped around and stormed off. Altaïr looked after him for a moment, still unable to parse out just what Abbas' intentions were. He bemoaned mentally ever being able to figure out people._  
  
Altaïr slowly felt the world around him again. At first, it was just the soft bed beneath him and the blankets against his skin. But then more and more pieces became clearer. The room was cool, and he felt a little breeze. A window was open, maybe?

Something warm was wrapped around his hand, and Altaïr opened his eyes to look. It took a moment for everything to make sense. "... Malik?"

Malik's head jerked up from where it had been resting against Altaïr's thigh. "Altaïr. You're awake." Altaïr hummed in confirmation even though he felt like he would slip back off to sleep at any moment. He must have been drugged, he realized. Slower than he should have noticed, but he also had no idea how much they had given him. Malik shifted and pressed a soft kiss to Altaïr's lips.

Altaïr let his eyes fall closed again as Malik's hand released his grip on Altaïr's and moved to cradle his jaw instead. He couldn't help but shiver and tilt his head to allow Malik to press closer. The warmth of Malik's hand and lips felt like a balm to more than just his body. He felt the warmth spread all the way down to his toes.

Slowly, Malik pulled away. Although only far enough away that he could speak. "We were worried you'd lost too much blood," he murmured against Altaïr's lips. "You've been unconscious for days. And feverish."

Altaïr lifted a hand to run over the back of Malik's head. "I'm sorry," Altaïr said.

"Don't apologize. You're always apologizing for the wrong things. The things that aren't your fault," Malik said, his hand dropping to Altaïr's chest to grab hold of a light robe that Altaïr had apparently been dressed in while he was unconscious. "This was all that bastard Abbas' fault."

Altaïr wasn't sure how to respond to that really, so he decided to bypass the subject entirely. "... what time is it?"

"Late," Malik responded. "Naila took the boys to bed about an hour ago..."

"Ah."

The two of them just laid there in bed for a little while. Altaïr didn't mind Malik so close to him -not like he had Abbas in their younger days. "... did he want revenge on you?" Malik asked.

"Revenge?" Altaïr echoed even as he thought about everything Abbas had said. "... I think so. In a way..."

Malik pushed himself up, and Altaïr opened his eyes again to see the worry swirling through his partner's aura. "What do you mean in a way?"

Altaïr twisted the sheets beneath him as he tried to put his thoughts in order. "He was very angry. But he usually is... Abbas wasn't just angry about losing his rank, though."

"He call you names again?" Malik asked.

"Yes. But he was also... jealous." Saying it out loud to Malik was strange, and Altaïr wasn't sure if he was explaining things well, but Malik at least always gave him a chance to work his way to what he meant.

"Jealous of you being Grandmaster?"

Altaïr nodded. "And you."

"Me?" Malik echoed. Surprise washed out his other emotions for a brief moment. "Why on Earth would he be jealous of me?"

Altaïr twisted the sheets again. "Just before he died... his aura was fading. But the last thing he felt before he was gone... love." Malik was quiet, and Altaïr looked to the side as he twisted the sheets worse. "I know I didn't mistake it. But it was such a strange shade. Not like how I see yours... or the boys'. But dark and... tinted with colors that shouldn't have been there."

The silence lingered, and then Malik sighed. "I see. I... suppose that explains a few things," he said.

"Does it?" Altaïr wasn't sure how it would. It only made less and less sense to him.

Malik gently put his hand to Altaïr's chin. Though he didn't force Altaïr to turn his head, his desire for actual eye contact was clear. Altaïr hesitated and then steeled himself to look at his partner. It was uncomfortable, but he knew Malik appreciated it when he had something important to say. "You're annoying as hell, Altaïr. You really are. And you're arrogant. But that arrogance isn't exactly undeserved."

Altaïr wasn't sure where this was going but remained silent so that he wouldn't miss any detail that might help him understand later. "You're handsome and incredibly skilled. Everyone's aware of that. You might have been misguided in your youth and made terrible mistakes, but you've always done what you thought was right and been unfailingly honest." Malik's aura shifted. "Annoying, aggravatingly honest. And blunt as a hammer."

"... Are these good features or bad?" Altaïr asked uncertainly.

"Both," Malik said honestly. "You're a remarkable man, Altaïr. And I suppose I can't fault the bastard for being in love with you. Not when I love you so much myself."

Altaïr blinked several times. Although he was well aware of Malik's feelings -he'd seen them clear as day in the man's aura- Malik had never actually said those words before. Altaïr was shocked by how hard they hit him. Hearing it out loud was so different from simply being aware that the emotion existed. "Malik..."

"Quiet, Novice, I'm not done," Malik said. His aura was tinged with embarrassment. "I can, however, fault the bastard for doing so much else to you. For trying to kill you... and worse."

Altaïr tilted his head. "Worse?"

Malik sighed and straightened a little bit more. "When we searched his rooms, we found a small book. He went on for a while about how he was going to... 'teach you what being a man meant' or some such nonsense. I can't imagine whatever he had in mind for that was going to be a wholesome talk about making children..."

"I know how to make children already," Altaïr said, slightly confused again.

"That-" Malik shook his head. "I know, Novice. My point is... I've heard that sort of talk before. When a man that's been jilted decides to take what he wants by force. Usually, a woman who's turned down his advances. And especially when the man feels his virility was questioned. I fear what his intentions were in dragging you out of the fortress. There was a boat waiting on the shore of the lake..."

Altaïr felt himself shudder immediately at the thought of being stranded on a boat with Abbas in the middle of the lake. "Exactly," Malik said. "But he clearly underestimated you. Again."

"Once the boys were safe, I just needed an opportunity," Altaïr said. "... I don't understand, though. If Abbas felt that for me... how could he also hate me so much?" He had clearly seen both swirling in Abbas.

"Sometimes, love and hate aren't easy to pull apart, Novice," Malik said. He reached over to brush some hair back from Altaïr's forehead. "I know I've had some very mixed feelings about you in the past."

Altaïr nodded. That was very true, but he also felt like Malik's anger at least had a cause while Abbas' didn't. He didn't know why Abbas had been so unbearably angry at him. "... why did he hate me? We didn't interact much since we were children..."

"Just a guess, but I imagine it was because he didn't exactly like himself either," Malik said in a dry tone. "With all the horrible things he was spewing about you and me being together... I wouldn't be surprised if he thought that about his own desires too. When you hate yourself, it's surprisingly easy to put that on others who have nothing to do with it."

"Is it?"

Malik let out a single laugh. "Altaïr, are you going to try and tell me you've never irrationally hated anyone?"

Altaïr thought about it. "... if it was irrational hate, I didn't realize it," he finally answered. "How do you tell if something is irrational?"

"I... guess it's mostly a matter of hindsight and self-awareness," Malik said.

"Well, if I don't realize it yet that something was irrational, I'm going to guess I never will."

"Fair enough. It's not exactly easy to see when you're being irrational anyway," Malik said. "And it doesn't really matter why he did what he did. Just that he didn't succeed. I don't know what I would have done had he managed to kill you, Altaïr."

"You'd have survived," Altaïr said with confidence. "It's what you do."

"... I'm not so sure," Malik said.

"I am."

Malik hummed. "Perhaps until the boys didn't need me anymore..." he said as a sort of concession. "But I don't know how much past that I'd have managed. You can't go dying on me, Novice. Got that?"

Altaïr nodded. Malik gave his own sharp nod. "Good. Now you need to get some rest. You haven't fully recovered, and Maria will skin me if you even think about getting up before you have. I'll get you some fresh water. You probably need it," Malik said as he got up and headed to the door.

"Malik."

Malik paused and turned. "What, Novice?"

"... I love you too."

A lovely rainbow of emotions washed through Malik's aura. Altaïr could spend the rest of his life just watching all the colors of Malik's emotions mingling and blossoming constantly. "I'll be back, Altaïr. And when I return... I'll give you another."

Altaïr smiled. "I look forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! And this is the end... TT___TT so sad but every story has one. (although you wouldn't know it by looking at my author page... hehe)


End file.
